

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 







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Children 

of tbe 

flbalm %ant>s 


Life and Products 

IN THE 

Hot Countries 


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HUce J£. alien 


EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

BOSTON 

CHICAGO SAN FRANCISCO 


NEW YORK 



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THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

JUN. 6 1902 

Copyright entry 
TO ^ !<\ 0 i 
CLASS Ct/ XXa No. 

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COPY B. 


Copyrighted 

By EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
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CONTENTS 

The Hot Belt 
Banana Land 
Allspice and Ginger 

Tea 

A Day in Coffee Land 
Chocolate and Cocoa 
The Land of Dates 
Pepper and Nutmegs . 

In Java 

Where Cinnamon Grows . 


Page 

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23 

45 

63 

79 

99 

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169 


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CHILDREN OF THE 
PALM LANDS, 


THE HOT BELT. 

Let us read to-day about this wonderful 
Earth upon which we live. 

It looks flat to us, but it is not flat. It 
is really almost as round as the ball we 
toss and catch in the school-yard. 

What a big, big ball our Earth must be. 
Think of its great mountains and wide 
valleys and plains and its big lakes and 
rivers. And think, too, of all the birds 
and animals and men and women and 
children who live on it. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


If one of our fast trains started to-day 
and could go straight around our Earth, 
how long do you suppose it would take it 
to go all the way around and come back 
here ? It would take less than a month 
to make the trip. 

Now, let us think of a line passing all 
the way around the Earth from east to 
west. It is only a “make believe line, 
but it has a name. It is called the equator , 
because it divides our Earth into two 
equal parts. 

At noon the great sun is overhead and 
its bright rays are vertical — that is, they 
shine straight down upon the Earth. This 
makes noon the hottest part of the day. 

How hot it is in the summer at noon! 
If we have been playing ball or riding our 
wheels, we are glad to rest under the trees. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


9 


On places near the equator the sun 
shines almost straight down every day in 
the whole year, as straight as it shines 
down upon us at noon-time in the summer. 

These vertical rays of the sun make a 
wide hot belt all around that part of the 
Earth on each side of the equator. 

As we go north and south of this 
broad hot belt, the sun’s rays become 
more and more slanting and so do not 
feel as hot. 

So we reach cooler and cooler parts of 
the Earth. On each side of the hot belts 
are the warm belts. Next to these, on 
each side, are the cool belts. 

And beyond these, are the cold belts 
where the ice and snow stay all the year 

long- 

We live in the cool belt, where there are 







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CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


11 


four seasons — spring, summer, autumn, 
and winter. 

The great hot belt, where the vertical 
rays of the sun always fall, has a warm or 
hot season all the year, with plenty of rain. 

If we lived there, we could never skate 
nor slide down hill nor play snow-ball, as 
we can in the Northern States. 

We could not make snow-forts nor snow- 
men. We could never wear mittens nor 
hoods nor furs. But what fun it would 
be, you say, to gather apples and straw- 
berries every day in the year. 

No, in the hot belt there are no straw- 
berries nor apples, nor peaches nor pears. 
It is too warm for them to grow. All of 
these fruits live with us in the cool belt. 

Only plants which like the hottest air 
and the richest soil grow in the hot belt. 


12 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 



These beautiful lands of the hot belt are 
called the tropics. 


A TROPICAL FOREST SCENE. 

Let us visit one of these far-off, sunny 
countries. How big everything is and 
how bright! And, oh, how hot it is! 
Hotter than the hottest Fourth of July we 
have ever known. 

Do you see that great green forest? 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


13 


It seems like one big thick tangle of 
shrubs and huge ferns. If we could set it 
down at home our biggest woods would 
look like little groves beside it. 

This is one of the great forests or 
jungles of India. 

Between the mountains and one of the 
great cities of India there is a railroad which, 
a part of the way, goes through the jungles. 

Let us take a ride on the train through 
this great dark jungle. 

The trees and vines and creeping plants 
grow so close to the track that we can see 
only a little way into the woods. 

What are those beautiful trees with 
broad, feathery branches? Those are bam. 
boo trees. 

Do you see this great tree which looks as 
if it had a dozen trunks? That is a banyan 



14 CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 

tree. Those great sprouts grow out of its 
branches and take root in the ground again. 


There are hundreds of banyan trees in 
these tropical forests. The great trunks 
grow close together. Tough vines and 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


15 


creeping plants twist and twine from one 
trunk to another so that men have to cut 
their way through with knives and axes. 

Listen ! What is that deep roar which 
we can hear above the noise of our train ? 
That is the roar of a hungry lion. 

And what are those big, burning eyes, 
like balls of fire, peering out at us from 
that dark thicket? 

If they were not so big and so fierce 
they would look like pussies eyes when 
she waits to pounce upon a mouse. 

Those fierce, fiery eyes belong to a tiger. 
This great jungle is the home of the lion 
and the tiger and many other wild animals. 
Some of them we have seen in a me- 
nagerie, but we would not care to meet 
them out in the woods. 

As we leave this great tropical forest, 


16 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


we see giant trees twenty times as high as 
our school-room. Their trunks are covered 
with bright green or soft gray moss. From 
their branches float beautiful ferns and 
bright-colored flowers called orchids. 

There is a tree-fern. See its round 
trunk twenty feet high, with the great 
fern-leaves spreading in a circle around 
the top. 

We pass large flocks of wild peacocks. 
They spread their great golden, green and 
blue tails and strut about proudly. 

Before we go home, we must take a 
peep into another tropical forest far away 
from this one, in the great country of Brazil. 

There is a broad river flowing through 
this forest, so we will take a steamer 
through a part of it. 

We are glad to lie in our pretty ham- 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


17 


mocks on the deck of the steamer, for it is 
so hot that we feel almost too lazy to move. 

The trees rise like a great wall from the 
water. Some of them are a hundred feet 
high. From their branches float long 
vines as soft and silky as floss. 

Many vines and creeping plants wind 
and twist and twine themselves round and 
round the great tree-trunks and run across 
from one trunk to another and tie them all 
so closely together that we can scarcely 
peep through. 

Look at the trees carefully. Here and 
there we see one like those we have at 
home. Tall and dark among the lighter 
green ones, are the giant palm-trees wav- 
ing their broad leaves to and fro in the 
hot air like fans. 

What are those great golden flowers 


18 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


shining against the blue sky? They are 
the blossoms of that tall tree. 

Oh, oh, see the other trees in blos- 
som ! See the great branches of blue and 
white and red flowers high above our heads. 

There is a tree whose top makes a 
bouquet as big as a hay-stack. The blos- 
soms are almost the color of our violets. 

There are thousands of monkeys in this 
forest. 

Funny little faces furry, 

Through the branches peeping, 

Brows a-wrinkle, eyes a-twinkle, 

Such a flurry, flurry, flurry, 

Such a hurry, hurry, hurry, 

Such a scurry, scurry, scurry, 

Jolly monkeys all ! 

What a noise ! What is the matter? 
Clinging, swinging, leaping, 

See them rollick, see them frolic, 

Hear their feet go patter, patter, 

Such a clatter, clatter, clatter, 

Such a chatter, chatter, chatter, 

Noisy monkeys all ! 


CHILDREN OE THE PALM LANDS. 


19 


Hush! See that pretty white deer half 
hidden by those bushes. How quickly he 
bounds away when he hears our boat 
coming ! 

What are those bits of bright red and 
green and blue flashing up there in the 
branches ? 

Those are some of the wonderful tropi- 
cal birds. How big and bright they are ! 

There is a native parrot. Pretty Poll, 
pretty Poll, can you talk ? 

Poll looks very wise and blinks her big, 
black eyes. But she doesn’t answer. 

If we could visit other parts of the hot 
belt, we should see other wonderful tropi- 
cal birds. 

There is one called the lyre-bird. This 
bird has a great, beautiful tail the shape of 
a lyre or harp. 


20 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


There are pheasants, too, with long tails. 
And there are birds of paradise with yellow 
and green and black and brown plumage. 

Don’t you wish we had some of these 
tropical birds in our forests? But most of 
them do not sing a note. Would you 
want to give up our robins and thrushes 
and bluebirds for these big beauties who 
never sing? 

We would find many other trees, too, 
and we would be surprised to find how 
many things which we see and use every 
day come from the trees of the hot belt. 

Beside date-palms and cocoanut-palms, 
we should see India rubber trees and cork 
trees and camphor trees and cinnamon 
trees and clove trees. 

But we must not think that all this vast 
hot belt is covered with forests. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


21 


No, indeed! There are big, busy cities 
and towns and little villages. 

There are broad, rich farms, called plan- 
tations, where coffee and bananas grow. 

If we lived here what a feast of bananas 
and dates we would have. And when we 
were thirsty, we would drink the milk out 
of the big brown cocoanuts. 

We could not begin to eat all of the 
good things ourselves. So, like the little 
boys and girls who live in the tropics, we 
would help to send some of the fruits and 
spices away to the children of the cool 
belts. 

Do little children live in these far-away 
countries of the hot belt? Indeed they 
do, and they really help to send us 

“ Sugar and spice, 

And all that’s nice.” 









BANANA LAND. 


All Aboard for Banana Land. 

(Air : “ Marching Through Georgia.”) 


Winds are whirring, flags are stirring on this happy 
day, 

Dashing, flashing, splashing on, our ship flies through 
the spray, 

Screaming whistles seem to say, “ Away, away, away, — 
Off for the land of Bananas !” 

Away, away, to sunny shores we go, 

Away, away, where giant palm-trees grow, 

To a lovely, lazy land, with warm winds all a-blow, 

Off for the land of Bananas ! 


We have already visited some parts of 
the great hot belt. Do you remember- 
how hot it was ? And do you remember 


23 


24 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


the great forests and wonderful birds and 
animals ? 

To-day, let us start for an island called 
Jamaica, where the bananas grow. Ja- 
maica is one of the smallest of the West 
Indian Islands. We go there on a great 
ocean steamer. 

It is so warm that we are glad to lie all 
day on deck with awnings stretched above 
us to keep off the sunshine. We are glad 
when the great sun goes down and the 
stars come out in the sky. 

Who can tell the name of this part of 
the earth where the sun’s rays are almost 
vertical every day in the year? 

This is the hot belt. Yes, and it has 
another name, too. It is called the Torrid 
Zone, because torrid means “hot” and 
zone means “ a belt.” 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


25 


What is that long, low line of dark-blue 
away off there where the water seems to 
touch the sky? Is it a big, blue cloud? 

Watch. As we come nearer and nearer 
to it, we see that what looked like a blue 
cloud in the sky is really a little spot of 
green land in the water. 

This is the island of Jamaica which we 
have sailed all these miles to visit. 

Two of our own states — California and 
Florida — are so warm that they produce 
many bananas. But they cannot begin to 
supply all the men and women and chil- 
dren, in our big United States, with all 
the bananas they want to eat. 

So, millions and millions of bunches are 
sent to us every year from many of the 
countries of the Torrid Zone. 

And this small island of Jamaica, lying 



A SCENE IN JAMAICA 






CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


27 


here with the blue ocean dashing all around 
it, sends the United States more bananas 
in one year than any other country. 

Nearer and nearer we come. We see 
trees with big thick leaves. Now we see 
a wharf and many stone buildings. This 
is the city of Kingston, and here we leave 
our steamer. 

Oh, see that donkey ! He has a great 
load of bananas strapped on his back. A 



CARRYING BANANAS TO MARKET. 


28 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


man is driving him down to the dock. 
A canoe is waiting there to carry the 
bananas to that steamer bound for the 
United States. 

Do you see that jolly-looking black 
woman ? She has a tray of bananas 
which she holds on her head. How 
straight she stands! She wants us to 
buy some of her fruit. 

Soon we leave the city behind. We 
are driving through the beautiful green 
country. 

There are great fields stretching away 
on each side of us. We shade our eyes 
with our hands and oh, oh, oh — what a 
beautiful tree that is ! What can it 
be? Look, there is another and another 
and another — hundreds of trees in each 
field. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


29 


They have great trunks with a row of 
leaves bursting out around the top. The 
leaves are green and glossy. They unfold 
slowly something like the large canna 
leaves on our lawn at home. 



A BANANA PLANTATION. 


But what big leaves ! Why, if one lay 
on the ground a tall man could lie at full 
length on it. 

Some of the trees are covered with 
bright flowers. Are they fruit trees ? 


30 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Yes, for there is a negro coming from 
one of the trees, carrying a bunch of 
something on his back. It is so heavy he 
bends over under the load. He comes 
nearer and nearer. Why, it is a great 
bunch of bananas ! 

Yes, real bananas. And these great 
trees are banana trees. And we are in 
banana land at last. 

But why do many of the bananas look 
so green ? And how do the men ever 
reach them ? And why do the clusters 
grow upside down ? 

Away we run under the trees to find 
someone to answer all our questions. 

Here is a white man talking to one of 
the negroes. He is the Englishman who 
owns all this vast banana orchard — planta- 
tion, he calls it. He has driven out from 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


31 


his beautiful home in Kingston to oversee 
the negroes who work on the plantation. 

Bananas are planted in rows about ten 
feet apart. If we could see a banana 
plantation, when the plants are first set 
out, we would not think it looked very 
thrifty. The plants look like brown clubs 
sticking out of the ground, and there is 
only one little spot of green at the top of 
each one. 

But what do you think? That little 
spot of green is a real little live bud. 
And very soon it drinks in rain and heat 
and light and begins to grow. 

It swells and swells, and in a short while 
shakes itself into a little crown of leaves 
for the tiny plant. You would enjoy 
watching these leaves unroll themselves. 
Sometimes, along comes a big storm of 


32 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


wind which tears them all into tatters. 
Then the plant looks almost as if it had a 
crown of green feathers. 

By and by, from out these leaves, peeps a 
cluster of wee, pink blossoms. The little 
flowers grow in circles round and round 
the stem. After a while, these bright 
petals drop off, and spread a pretty pink 
carpet under the trees. 

What do these banana blossoms leave 
behind them in the tree when they fall ? 
What is it that those great, broad leaves 
are hiding so carefully from the hot sun ? 

If you could peep into that cool leaf- 
cradle you would see a cluster of the 
tiniest, hardest baby-bananas, each one 
wrapped up in a little brown husk. 

You would see that the little bananas 
grow in circles round and round the stem 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


33 


just as the pink flowers did You would 
see, too, that they curl back from the stem 
and grow upward. That is because the 
bananas still reach their flower-ends up 
toward the big bright sun. 

So they do not really grow “ upside 
down,” after all. It is only because we 
have always seen them hanging the other 
way in the fruit stores at home, that they 
looked “ upside down ” to us here. 

When the bananas grow a little larger, 
the husk peels off very slowly, each day 
letting in a little more warmth, until at 
last the banana is stronger and can bear 
the full heat of the great tropic sun. 

Then the little husks shrivel up and fall 
off. And the sun and the wind and the rain 
take care of the bananas and they grow 
bigger and riper and sweeter every day. 


34 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


In ten months the bananas are ripe 
enough to be picked. Think of it ! In 
ten months, while you are going through 
one year of school, that small plant has 
grown into a tall tree with big, broad 
leaves, and has borne a great bunch of 
ripe yellow bananas. 

The planter brings an axe. He cuts a 
deep gash in the trunk of the tree. Down 
it bends with its sweet, heavy weight of 
fruit. That tree will bear no more fruit. 
In its place will be ‘set out one of the 
strongest of the little plants which have 
grown up around it, from its roots. 

Some of the great bunches of bananas 
are hung up in the shade until they are 
ripe enough to use. For bananas ripen 
best in the shade. 

Most of the bananas are sent, while they 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


35 


are still green, to the city, where they are 
loaded on the great steamers which carry 
them to the cool countries. 

The planter calls the rows of bananas 
on the stem “ hands,” and each banana a 
“finger.” Can you think why? 

What a funny little house some one has 
built here under the trees. Perhaps it is 
only a play-house. It is nothing but a 
hut covered all over the outside with big 
banana leaves. 

Does someone really live in that little 
cottage? Hark, I am sure I heard some 
one laugh. Oh, oh, just peep around the 
trunk of that big tree and see those funny 
little children. 

I can see four of them. The jolliest, 
plumpest, little things — it makes me 
laugh just to see them smile. They wear 


36 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


no clothes. They have big, bright eyes, 
and the woolliest heads and roundest 
faces you ever saw. And heads and face 
and eyes are black — all so black, you can’t 
tell which is blackest. 

They are eating their dinner of fruit and 
bread with no butter on it. And they 
drink something that looks like milk out 
of queer little round cups. 

A real live baby is lying there in the 
pink banana blossoms. He has crinkly 
black curls all over his little round head, 
and his eyes fairly dance with fun. 

He lies flat on his little back, and kicks 
his two fat feet and his ten black toes and 
reaches up his dimpled hands to catch the 
sunshine just as our little pink and white 
babies do at home. 

One of the girls sees us now. She 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


37 


smiles shyly, and shows two rows of 
pearly white teeth. 

See, she is holding out some ripe 
bananas toward us. And one of the boys 
brings us some of the sweetest milk we 
have ever tasted. It is cocoanut milk and 
the little cups we drink from are made out 
of big, brown cocoanuts. 

They have jolly times playing in the 
pink banana blossoms. They run and 
jump in them just as we do in the big 
piles of leaves in the fall. 

They pelt each other with them. This 
is the only snow-balling they can ever 
have here, for never a flake of snow falls 
in banana land. 

By and by, when they grow older, they 
will help their father and mother in the 
fields of cotton and coffee and sugar-cane, 



IN THE SUGAR-CANE FIELDS 


» ... , 



CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


39 


which grow near by. And they will go to 
school in a little school-house something 
like our own. They will learn to read 
and write and spell, just as we do. 

When the teacher tells them about an 
apple — a red apple — she will show them 
pictures of our apple-blossoms and apple- 
trees and apples, and tell them all she can 
about how they grow, and are gathered in 
the fall. For these little children have 
never seen apples. 

They would enjoy a trip to our apple- 
orchards quite as much as we do this visit 
to banana land. 

I’m sure I don’t know what these little 
children would do without their banana 
tree. 

Its broad, green leaves are almost the 
first thing they see. For, when they are 


40 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


little like their black baby, they lie out of 
doors all day, and roll in the leaves instead 
of in a cradle. 

The leaves not only shade them from 
the heat, but they make the walls and 
roofs of their little homes. And they are 
woven, too, into rugs and mats to lie and 
sit upon. 

A part of the tough bark of the banana 
tree is made into cloth. And when the 
days grow a little cooler the children will 
wear at night scanty clothing made of this 
cloth. 

Then the banana tree gives them nearly 
all of their food. They not only eat 
bananas as we do, but — did you ever eat 
boiled bananas ? Or roasted bananas ? 
And does your mamma make banana 
bread ? 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


41 


All of these foods the little black chil- 
dren like to eat. But they never heard, I 
am sure, of banana-cake and banana-fritters 
and banana ice-cream. 

Oh, here comes the children’s mother. 
She has been away all day, helping their 
father in the sugar-cane. She has black, 
kinky hair, like the children’s. Her broad, 
dark face is so kind that we do not wonder 
that the children are glad to see her. 
How they all cluster about her. 

She rolls her baby in her strong arms, 
and he cuddles down and crows away to 
himself while she croons softly. 

Her voice is low and sweet. Perhaps 
this is what she sings : 

A great red sun in a hot blue sky, 
Heigh-O, Baby-mine, 

A lazy breeze in the palm-trees high, 


42 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Heigh-O, Baby-mine. 

Banana blossoms wake, warm and pink, 
Two black eyes open and wink and blink 
And then comes a little laugh, I think, 
Heigh-O, Baby-mine. 

A yellow moon in a still night sky, 
Bye-lo, Baby-mine, 

A sleepy breeze a-stealing by, 

Bye-lo, Baby-in ine. 

The little waves they leap and creep, 

On ocean’s breast they fall asleep, 

Black baby dreams in his cradle deep, 
Bye-lo, Baby-mine. 

Good night, little black baby. Sleep 
well in your little swinging hammock 
under the big bright stars of banana land. 




A TROPICAL SCENE 






ALLSPICE AND GINGER. 

On our last journey we visited Jamaica, 
one of the lovely, lazy lands of the great 
hot belt. We saw the jolly black baby 
cooing and crowing in the hot sunshine. 
We saw his pretty leaf-covered home under 
the tall banana trees. 

The little tropical island of Jamaica 
sends us many good things besides 
bananas. Let us take a long drive 
through the country, to-day, with our eyes 
wide open. We shall see many new, 
strange plants. 

We drive between broad fields of coffee, 
cotton and sugar-cane. We pass fields of 
tobacco and maize and sweet potatoes. 

We see great orchards of figs and dates 


45 


46 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


and oranges and pine-apples and pome- 
granates. We pause under the shade of 
the beautiful orange trees, and eat all we 
want of the juicy, delicious fruit. 

Now we go on, leaving the fruit and 
farm lands. Our road winds in and out 
among the great ferns and creepers and 
giant trees of a dark forest. 

Over there are some mahogany trees. 
They have broad branches and shining, 
feathery leaves. The wood of the mahog- 
any tree is dark, rich brown. It is very 
hard and beautifully veined. 

These tall trees close to us are rose- 
wood. Rosewood, when first cut, some- 
times has a faint, sweet odor like dried 
rose-leaves. 

What are those tall trees over there on 
that sunny slope ? They reach up, up, up, 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


47 


toward the burning blue sky. Their 
spreading branches are covered with 
shining green leaves. 

Oh, oh, there are great pieces of cloth 
spread under the trees. And see the crowd 
of black people — men, women and chil- 
dren ! Are they having a picnic ? 

As we come nearer, we see showers of 
round green berries dashing down from the 
trees. There are men up in the trees 
stripping these tiny berries from the twigs. 
The men and women and children below 
are gathering the berries and putting them 
into bags. 

As we stop under the trees, one of the 
children brings us a handful of the 
berries. They have a spicy smell, but they 
are green and hard. What can they be 
used for? 


48 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Little black Dinah laughs and shows all 
her pretty white teeth, when we ask her. 



“ They are allspice berries,” she says in 
her sweet, lazy little drawl. 

The planter comes up. He smiles when 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


49 


he sees us taste the berries. “ They are 
not ripe yet,” he says. 

Then he tells us all about allspice — 
“ pimento,” he calls it. 

Nearly every planter in Jamaica has 
what he calls his pimento walk. A 
pimento walk is a grove of allspice 
trees. 

First, the planter chooses a woodland 
where the pimento trees grow wild. This 
woodland is usually on the side of a hill. 
He cuts down all other plants, and soon 
the new pimento-shoots spring up among 
the old trees. 

Three years after the little pimento 
plants appear they bear their first crop of 
berries. 

The planter watches these berries very 
carefully. They must be gathered at just 


50 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


such a time or they will not make good 
spice. 

They must be picked when they have 
grown to their full size, but before they are 
ripe. If they are left on the trees until 
they are fully ripe, they are of a dark 
purple color. They are then sweet and 
soft. 

The birds like them then, but a spice 
made from them would not have the sharp 
taste of allspice. 

Such gay times as the little black chil- 
dren have while the allspice berries are 
being gathered. They have almost as 
much fun as we do when we go nutting. 

The berries tumble down all around 
them. Patter, patter, clatter, clatter, on 
little black fingers and bare toes and 
woolly heads alike. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


51 


The children laugh and scream. They 
dodge and catch them. They pick them 
up by handfuls to help fill the big bags. 

One man in the tree above, can send 
down enough berries to keep three swift 
pickers busy gathering them up. One 
good picker can gather about a bushel of 
berries a day. 

When the bags are full they are taken 
home. All the little leaves which have 
clung to the berries must be taken away. 
Then the berries are spread out on board 
floors in the sun to dry. 

Soon the berries lose their bright green 
color. They grow darker and darker until 
they are of a deep reddish-brown. They 
are now so dry that when they are turned 
their tiny seeds rattle about inside them. 

Now they are ready to be packed and 






CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


53 


sent to the northern countries. There they 
will be ground into the fine, brown powder 
that we know so well as allspice. 

Allspice was first brought to Europe by 
the Spanish, soon after Columbus dis- 
covered the West India Islands. They 
called it “ Sweet scented Jamaica pepper.” 

It was called “ Allspice ” because people 
thought it tasted of all the spices. 

We would like to stay all day in the 
sweet-scented pimento walk, but there is 
much else to see and to learn in this won- 
derful little island of Jamaica. We must 
learn about the ginger here. 

A Ginger Field. 

Is there any one who does not like gin- 
ger cookies, ginger snaps, and ginger- 
bread ? The very thought of the crisp, 


54 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


crusty loaves of gingerbread which we 
have at home, makes us hungry. We can 
almost smell it. 

What is there in gingerbread which 
gives it a smell so sweet and spicy that 
our mouths fairly water to taste it? 

It isn’t the flour nor the eggs nor the 
molasses nor the milk nor the butter, 
although they all help to make it good. 
No, it is the bit of ginger which mother 
puts in so carefully. 

And in a field, like that large one on 
our right, that bit of yellowish-brown 
ginger began to grow. 

What queer, clumsy-looking plants ! 
There is a stalk in the center, with leaves 
growing out on each side of it. The 
leaves are about five inches long and one 
inch wide. They taper to a point. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


55 


On each side of the stalk, growing up 
from the roots of the plant, are slender 



stems which end in queer, oblong spikes. 
These spikes are covered with scales. 

Between these scales, little flowers peep 
out at us. They have long narrow petals 



56 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


of a dark blue color. Some, that have 
been open longer, are red. 

We break off some of these odd little 
flowers. We can almost smell the kitchen 
at home on baking day. This sweet, spicy 
odor of ginger comes partly from the blos- 
som itself, and partly from the broken 
stem. 

But our ginger doesn’t come from the 
stalk, nor the flower, nor the fruit, of the 
ginger plant. In a little while, the flowers 
will fade and the plant will begin to dry 
down to the ground. 

If we could see this field in four months 
from now, we would see only dead stalks 
and dried leaves. And we would see many 
negroes digging up the roots. For it is 
the root of the ginger-plant which makes 
our ginger. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


57 


After the roots are dug, boiling water is 
poured over them to keep them from 
sprouting. Two kinds of ginger are made 
from these roots. 

Some of them are dried in the sun until 
they are dark and wrinkled. Then they 
are ground into a yellowish-brown powder 
which is called black ginger. 

The best of these roots, after they 
are scalded, are scraped until the dark, 
outside coat is taken off. When these 
roots are ground, they make a soft, 
smooth, creamy-white powder, called white 
ginger. 

Both black and white ginger are used 
by the people of the United States. 

Did you ever eat any of that delicious 
sweetmeat called preserved ginger? It 
comes to us in small earthern jars, blue 


58 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


and white. They are covered with a net- 
work of cord to keep the jars from break- 
ing on the way to us. 

This ginger sweetmeat is made from 
the tender, juicy roots of the young ginger- 
plant. They are plunged first into boiling 
and then into cold water. 

Then they are peeled, scraped, and 
placed in jars. A thick, rich syrup is 
poured over them. After this syrup dries 
on them, another still richer is poured on 
and left to harden as before. 

Sometimes these roots are cut into 
pieces about the size of peppermint drops. 
Then they are covered all over the outside 
with sugar. They look and taste a little 
like the sugared sweet-flag which we can 
buy at the candy shops. 

There is an extract made from the gin- 


CHILDREN OP THE PALM LANDS. 59 

ger-root, called Jamaica ginger, which is 
much used as a medicine. 

Large pieces of forest-land are burned 
every year in Jamaica to make room for 
the ginger-fields. The soil, itself, is then 
burned to take from it all the seeds and 
roots of other plants. 

Then the pieces of ginger-root are set 
out. Each one of these pieces has an 
eye from which the new sprout will 
grow. 

These roots look something like our 
sweet-flag and iris roots. They are set 
about a foot apart and are covered with a 
few inches of the rich soil. 

In about a year from the time they are 
set out the ginger-roots are ready to be 
dug. 

Ginger was brought to England by the 


60 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Dutch over four hundred years ago. 
People used to believe that it would make 
the sight keen and the memory good. 
One man tried rubbing some of the “ spicy- 
root ” in the corner of his eye, so that he 
might see better. He soon found his 
mistake. 

Gingerbread has been eaten in all 
countries. It was put up in fancy gilt 
paper, and sold at fairs. The children 
bought and ate this “ gilt gingerbread ” as 
we do pop-corn and peanuts. 

Ginger grows in many tropical countries, 
but the finest comes to us from Jamaica. 

When we eat our pumpkin pie on 
Thanksgiving Day, we will remember how 
the allspice and ginger, which help to 
make it so delicious, grew in far-off 
Jamaica. And we will smile as we think 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


61 


of our woolly-headed little brothers and 
sisters far away, who helped to furnish our 
Thanksgiving dinner. 

Gingerbread Song. 

(Air: “ Auld Lang Syne.”) 

Let others take rich raisin-cake, 

Or cake with jelly red, 

Or sponge, or spice, give me a slice 
Of luscious gingerbread. 

Chorus. 

So, here’s a song for gingerbread, 

For good old gingerbread, 

So sweet and nice, so warm with spice, 
Three cheers for gingerbread. 

There’s angel’s food, and pound-cake 
good, 

And cake with chocolate spread, 

But rich and light, and browned just 
right, 

Give me warm gingerbread. 

Chorus. 



TEA. 




You droll little Japs, on our parasols gay, 

On fan and on lantern, on tea-cup and tray, 

Just step down among us, now, one, two, and three; 
And make us a cup of your own fragrant tea. 

Just leave off your bowing, you quaint little Japs — 
You dear little ladies and queer little chaps — 

With slim yellow fingers, as quick as can be, 

Please pour us a cup of your own steaming tea. 


To-day, let us visit Suzuki in her home 
far away in Japan. 

When she comes clattering on her 


63 


64 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


wooden shoes to meet us, she looks so 
much like her picture, that we almost think 
at first, that she has just stepped out from 
the folds of a big Japanese parasol. 

She has yellow skin, a pretty mouth with 
white, even teeth, black eyes, set criss-cross 
in her little face, and dark hair done up 
high on her head. 

She wears a long blue gown fastened at 
the neck, and falling to her feet. It lies in 
pretty folds across her breast. A broad 
blue sash, tied in a big bow in back, holds 
it in place. 

We hold out our hands to greet her, but 
she smiles and shakes her head. Then she 
falls down, spreads out her tiny hands, and 
bows her little head down to the ground. 

This is Suzuki’s way of saying, “ How 
do you do ? Will you come in ? ” 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


65 


What a pretty little home Suzuki has! 
It has a flat, gray roof, held up by bamboo 
posts. The walls of the house are all of 
thick white paper. There are no doors 
and no windows. The walls themselves 
slide in and out. 

Before Suzuki goes into the house, she 
takes off her shoes. They are only wooden 
soles, with straps to keep them on. We 
take off our shoes, too, and go into the 
house in our stocking feet. 

How clean everything is ! The walls of 
the rooms are all of white paper. There 
are white rugs on the floor. There are no 
chairs, but pretty cushions lie scattered 
about. 

The wall is pushed back, so that we can 
peep into the next room. We can see a 
tiny table, and a small box lined with 


66 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


brass. These boxes are the only stoves 
the Japs have. Japan lies in the cool belt, 
and they sometimes have fires. 

Suzuki’s mother and little brothers and 
sisters all greet us just as Suzuki did. 
The little mother is dressed like her chil- 
dren and is not much taller than Suzuki 
herself. 

Before we eat supper, we take a bath. 
The Japs are very neat. Every one has, at 
least, one hot bath a day. 

Suzuki’s father comes in to supper. He 
is dressed almost like the rest of his family. 
But he wears no sash. 

At supper each one has a tiny table all 
to himself. We feel almost as if we were 
eating at a doll’s tea-party. 

First, we have some cakes and candies, 
served with sweet wine. Then a soup 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


67 


made of beans. With this, some raw fish, 
cut in slices and covered with a sour 
sauce, pickles and salad. 



Last of all, we have rice and tea. The 
rice is passed to us, many times, in a big 
bowl, about the size of a peck-measure. 
We try to eat some with chop-sticks. This 
is about as easy as it would be to use two 
slate-pencils, holding them at the ends. 

The tea is served in dainty cups about 
as large as our after-dinner coffee-cups at 
home. 



Other People's Games.— China and Japan. 


p. IS8. 




CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


69 


After supper, Suzuki shows us some of 
her pretty toys. She tells us in her queer 
little way about her dolls. 

Every year, on the third of March, all 
over Japan is held a “ Feast of Dolls.” 
Then the little girls play with dolls that 
have been in their families for years and 
years. Suzuki has some which belonged 
to her great, great , great grandmother 
when she was a little girl. 

Some of the dolls are beautifully dressed 
like the Emperor and Empress of Japan. 
Then, there are little ladies and gentlemen, 
dressed in rich silks. There are boy-dolls 
and girl-dolls and baby-dolls. 

The little girls dress the dolls. Suzuki 
and her little sisters dressed over a hun- 
dred last year. The dolls are given a feast 
of teh and rice. 


70 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


When the “ Feast of the Dolls ” is over, 
the dolls are all put away in boxes until 
the next year. 

Of course, the Japanese boys do not 
care for dolls. Their good time comes 
on the fifth of May, which is called Flag 
Day. 

Then the boys are given flags, kites, toy 
fishes, and toy soldiers in uniform, with 
tents and arrows and spears. Nowhere in 
all the world do the children have a jollier 
time than they do in Japan. 

By and by, the lamps are lighted. Do 
you know where the oil comes from? 
From our own United States far away 
over the broad ocean. 

We go to bed early. Our bed is made 
of quilts piled up on the floor. There are 
no sheets. Our pillows are blocks of 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


71 


wood, with paper over one end. This end 
fits into the back of the neck. 

The next morning we go to school with 



Suzuki. It is a rainy day. Suzuki puts 
little blocks of wood under the heels of her 
shoes. So she is about three inches taller 
when it rains than she is when the sun 


72 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


shines. She tucks up her skirt and carries 
a paper umbrella. 

Some of the children we meet wear 
funny rain coats of rice-straw. 

In the school-house we find the children 
waiting for their teacher. We can hear 
him coming— clatter — clatter — on his stiff 
shoes. Here he is, wearing a long, dark 
gown and spectacles. 

All the little Japs fall down on the floor 
and bow low to him as he comes in. 
Then they all squat down on mats and 
study with their books in their laps. 

There is a little class learning the “ A, 
B, C’s.” What funny “A, B, C’s ” ! They 
look something like the letters weve seen 
in a Chinese laundry. And there are 
forty-seven of them. We think twenty-six 
are more than enough. Poor little Japs! 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


73 


What is Suzuki doing? She has some 
soft paper, a little cake of ink, a stone, 
called an ink-stone, and a tiny brush. 

She puts a few drops of water on the 
stone. Then she rubs the cake of ink on 
it. She dips in her brush and makes 
black marks on her paper. 

Is she painting a picture ? No, she is 
writing. She begins at the right side of 
her page and writes the lines from top to 
bottom. She holds her hand vertically, 
and never touches the paper with her 
fingers. 

Some of the children are counting with 
little wooden buttons strung on wires. 
They are learning to add, subtract, mul- 
tiply and divide. 

Outdoors we see, here and there, fields of 
wheat and barley, and cotton and tobacco. 


74 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Let us visit the tea-fields, or tea-gardens, 
and see how tea looks when it is growing. 

The tea-plants are set out in hedges 
which run from one side of the field to the 
other. These hedges are about two feet 
wide and from three to five feet high. 

Tea-leaves are a beautiful bright green. 
They look something like our rose-leaves. 

Each girl carries a basket. Watch her 
as she gathers the tea-leaves. She picks 
them from the bushes, one by one. She 
chooses only the brightest and freshest. 

When her basket is full, she will carry 
it home on her head. If we went home 
with her we would see her still busy with 
the tea-leaves. 

First, she helps to spread them out in 
the sun. After they are dried, they are 
steamed and dried again. Then she helps 


CHILDREN OP THE PALM LANDS. 


75 


to pack them in boxes. But they are not 
yet ready for use. They are sent from here 
to the big factories in the city not far* 
away. 

When we reach the city, we are greeted 
by a crowd of about fifty little men. They 
all wear blue tights and short over-skirts. 
They shout and scream at the top of their 
lungs. What is the matter? What do 
they say ? 

“ Jin-rik-i-sha ! Jin-rik-i-sha ! ” This is 
the name of the queer carriages they are 
pointing to. Oh, these little men are the 
cab-drivers of Japan ! 

We get into the funny cabs. Each one 
will hold two of us. They look like big 
baby-carts, with two high, slim wheels. 
The shafts are joined by a bar in front. 
But where are the horses ? 









CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


77 


Why, the men themselves are getting 
into the shafts! They draw the jin-rik- 
i-shas. Oh, this is the funniest ride we 
ever had! Our horses .are very fleet and 
sure-footed. 

There are some children in a jin-rik-i-sha. 
It has a purple velvet lining and is painted 
on the outside with chrysanthemums. 

Chrysanthemums are everywhere - - in 
gardens and parks and booths. Our 
Christmas blossom is the favorite flower 
of the Japanese. Once a year they hold a 
great “ Feast of Chrysanthemums.” They 
call their country the “ Land of the 
Chrysanthemums.” 

It would take weeks to see all the pretty 
and curious sights of Japan. But we hurry 
on down toward the wharves. 

Here are some of the big tea factories. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


We see men unpacking boxes of tea just 
come from the tea-gardens. 

The leaves are put into big iron bowls 
which are set in large ovens. There they 
are rubbed and rubbed by men and women 
until they are fully dried. 

We watch men sorting and packing this 
tea. We see others loading big boxes of 
it on to the great ocean steamers, bound 
for the United States and England. 

Just think of all the drying and rub-a- 
dub-dubbing the bright little tea-leaves 
must go through before they become the 
tiny hard twisted things which we buy in 
our stores. 

Just think, too, of all the busy, bright- 
faced little Japs whose nimble fingers help 
to make for us, 

“ A cup of their own fragrant tea.” 


A DAY IN COFFEE LAND. 

Coffee Chorus. 


(Air : “ Dixie Land.”) 

Oh, join us little sons and 
daughters, 

In a sail across the waters, 
All aboard, all aboard, 

All aboard for Coffee 
Land ! 

Chorus. 

Then, for the Land of 
Coffee — 

Aboard, aboard ; 

With cheery chink and 
jolly clink, 

We’ll drink your health in 
coffee. 

Aboard, aboard, 

For the bright Land of 
Coffee ! 



During our first visit to the great hot 
belt, we sailed through the large country 
of Brazil. 


79 



IN THE COFFEE COUNTRY* 



CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


81 


Do you remember the broad river up 
which we sailed? Do you remember the 
giant trees with their big bunches of 
bright blossoms ? 

Oh, yes, and the pretty purple and green 
parrots flashing in the dark branches. 
And the saucy monkeys that grinned and 
threw nuts at us when we sailed close 
to the shore. 

To-day, we will visit another part of this 
wonderful country of Brazil. Brazil is the 
great coffee country of the world. And 
since we have seen the green tea-gardens 
of far-away Japan, we have been wonder- 
ing where and how coffee grows. 

Little Beppo could tell us all about it, if 
he could only speak English. Beppo is 
very busy this morning. He is scooping 
out round holes in the rich earth. 


82 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Into each of these holes he puts a small 
green plant about twelve inches high. 
Over this he lays sticks or leaves, so that 
the great tropic sun cannot shine directly 
upon it. 

What a funny face Beppo has ! It is as 
red as a berry. Great black eyes look out 
at us from under the big brim of an old 
straw hat. Two little locks of straight 
hair have fallen over his forehead. They 
are of a queer rusty red color, and so are 
his hands. 

Beppo is doing very warm work for so 
warm a day. He pushes back his hat and 
wipes off his hot little forehead with the 
sleeve of his loose shirt. 

Why, the red color has all come off. 
His skin is clear and dark, and his hair is 
as black as his eyes. It was only the fine 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


83 


red dust, which fills all the air and settles 
thickly upon everything, which makes his 
face and hands and hair red. 

It is in this rich red soil of Brazil that 
some of the best coffee grows. And these 
small green plants which Beppo is setting 
out, are tiny coffee-bushes. 

Beppo is a little Italian boy. Only two 
years ago, he came with his father and 
mother from their sunny home in Italy to 
settle in Brazil and help make ready the 
coffee for us to drink. 

The coffee plantation upon which Bep- 
po’s father and mother work, is one of the 
largest in the world. It has five million 
coffee trees growing upon it. If we should 
start out now and walk all day long, we 
could not walk around the outside of it 
before dark. 



PICKING COFFEE PERRIES 








CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


85 


We have been so busy watching Beppo’s 
dusty little face and great dark eyes that 
we have scarcely looked around us. But 
as we do so, we see that there are fields 
and fields of green bushes on all sides 
of us. 

The coffee plantation looks like a great 
green map with red lines running criss- 
cross over it. The green is the green of 
the coffee-bushes. The red is the red dust 
of the roads which run between and across 
the great fields. 

Suddenly, far away, we see a cloud of 
black smoke. It comes nearer and nearer. 
Then we hear a shrill whistle. And 
whizzing away across the plantation, rushes 
a small steam-engine. Oh, there goes 
another and another! Is there a railroad 
in this great coffee country? 


86 


CHILDREN - OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Yes, the fields of coffee are so large and 
so far apart that the coffee berries are 
hauled from them to the factories by these 
tiny engines. 

How do you suppose we make our visits 
to the different parts of this big plantation? 
Why, carried along by some of these same 
noisy engines. 

We see coffee-plants of all sizes. Some 
fields are filled with little shrubs, just 
sticking their heads out of the red earth. 
Some are a thick mass of bright dark 
green bushes. And in others, tall coffee 
trees spread their broad branches above 
our heads. 

Men and women and children are at 
work everywhere. There are hundreds of 
busy hands picking the coffee-berries which 
hang, red and ripe, on tfees and bushes. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


87 


Is it so much work, then, to prepare 
coffee? Let us see just what must be 
done before it is ready to be served, hot 
and fragrant, on our dinner tables at home. 

First of all we must visit the seed-beds, 
or nurseries, where the coffee-seeds, or 
coffee-beans, are planted. 

After the coffee-plants are set out in the 
field, they must be carefully hoed and 
tended. In about four years the little 
shrub has grown into a good-sized bush, 
and is ready to bear its first crop of coffee. 

Out from its shining dark green leaves 
peep clusters of beautiful, star-shaped 
blossoms. Some of them are white as 
snow. Others are pale pink or deep rose- 
color, like the inside of a sea-shell. 

As its delicate petals slowly unfold, 
there comes from the heart of the coffee 


88 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


blossom, a faint, sweet smell, something 
like that of the jasmine flower. 

When these blossoms fade and drop, 
they leave behind them a small, round 
berry. When ripe, this berry is deep red, 
like a holly-berry. 

The coffee-bushes were beautiful when 
they were covered with their pretty pink 
and white blossoms. But they are more 
beautiful, now, with the rich crimson of 
the ripe berries gleaming against their 
dark, shining leaves. 

We pick some of these coffee-berries 
which hang just over our heads, and taste 
them. They have a soft, juicy pulp, like a 
cherry. They are sweet and not unpleasant, 
although they do not taste like coffee. 

Inside the berry we find twin seeds, flat 
on one side and rounded on the other, 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


89 


lying with their smooth faces close 
together. 

And it is because of these little seeds, or 
beans, inside the coffee-berry, that all these 
men and women and children are so busy. 
For these same odd-shaped little beans 
are what will make for us, by and by, our 
cups of golden-brown coffee. 

After the ripe berries are gathered into 
the great baskets, which the men and 
women carry, they are hauled from the 
fields, by the little engines, to the great 
wooden factories which we noticed on 
our way here. 

Puff, puff, puff — down the hill and away 
we go, with a big load of ripe, juicy coffee- 
berries. 

Once inside one of the big buildings, we 
hear machines of many kinds, humming 



DRYING THF. COFFEE BERRIES 









CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


91 


and whizzing about us. We see broad 
floors, as big as some of our meadows at 
home, paved with cement. On these 
smooth floors, millions of coffee-beans are 
drying. 

But before the seeds can be dried, they 
must be taken from the berries. We 
watch while the fresh berries, which came 
with us from the fields, are poured into a 
great hopper. We see them run through 
queer machines which mash the pulp but 
do not hurt the seeds. 

Then this soft mush of pulp and seeds 
is carried over a long copper cylinder. 
This cylinder is punched full of holes just 
big enough for the beans to drop through. 

Down, down they go, floating through a 
kind of canal to a great vat. 

Such a scrubbing as these little beans 



SORTING COFFEE BERRIES 





CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


93 


have next. When they are taken from the 
water they are as white as snow. This 
shining white coat of the coffee-bean is 
called its parchment-skin. 

Wearing their close-fitting, clean little 
coats, the tiny beans all go together to one 
of the great drying-floors. There they 
must lie for a long time in the hot sun. 

Each little bean wears, under its parch- 
ment-coat, a second brighter one, called its 
silver-skin. After the beans are dry as dry 
can be, both these coats must be taken off. 

This is done by a big machine which 
breaks open the skins, and by a fanning 
machine which blows them all away. 
When both their pretty coats have been 
taken off, the little beans are no longer 
bright and shining, but of a dull green 
color. 


94 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


When next we see these busy coffee- 
beans, they are in great sieves, in which 
are holes of different sizes. The big beans 
drop through the big holes, the middle- 
sized beans run through the middle-sized 
holes, and the little, wee beans slip through 
the little, wee holes. 

Then tlfose of the same size are all 
gathered up together, and away they go — 
rattle — rattle — rattle — down pipes into big 
bags. 

The coffee-bean’s country life is now 
over. Packed in these great bags, they are 
sent away to one of the cities of Brazil. 

We must now say good-bye to Beppo 
and take a long railroad trip to the busy, 
bustling city of Rio Janeiro. Why do you 
suppose some of our finest coffee is called 
Rio coffee ? 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


95 


We never saw so many peddlers as 
there are here. Fish and fruit are sold 
from house to house. What has that 
queer-looking man hanging over his 
shoulder ? Why, strings and strings of 
onions, all braided together. The cooks in 
Rio Janeiro buy their onions by the yard. 
Think of it ! 

Where does all that cackling and hissing 
come from ? Oh, see that fat negro 
woman, wearing a bright yellow turban! 
She is carrying a crate of chickens and 
geese on her woolly head. She sells live 
fowls from door to door. 

Strong negroes carry heavy bags of 
coffee on their heads as if they were filled 
with feathers. They pile them up on the 
sidewalks or on the floors of the big 
factories. They empty out coffee, they 


96 CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 

shovel up coffee, they fill and re-fill the 
great bags. 

One big bag has broken open, and a 
stream of green coffee-beans rattles down 
into the gutter. Down after them jumps 
a little negro girl. She gathers up all she 
can in the skirt of her red dress, and then 
away she runs for home, all her kinky 
curls bobbing up and down. She will 
wash the beans and sell them in the city 
market. 

From the wharf, steam cranes are lifting 
the strong sacks of coffee-beans to the 
great ocean-steamers lying in the harbor. 

Many of them are going to New York 
and Boston. The people of the United 
States drink more coffee than the people of 
any other nation. 

Not many years ago, people bought the 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


07 


green coffee-beans, browning them in the 
oven at home, and grinding them in small 
coffee-mills — a little at a time — just 
enough for breakfast, perhaps. 

Now all that browning and grinding is 
done for us, and when our coffee comes to 
us, it is the fragrant tiny bits all know so 
well. 

So all we have to do is to steep it, add 
sugar and cream just to suit our tastes— 
and drink it. But let us remember 

Balmy breath of coffee-flowers, 

Sweets from berries in bright bowers, 

Spicy warmth of seeds are ours — 

When we drink our coffee I 


98 


CHILDREN OF T HE PALM LANDS 


CHOCOLATE AND COCOA. 


Song. 


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Oh, lit - tie men and maidens all, From 



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tea - cups small, From far - a - way Ki - o - to. 



We have served hot cof - fee, too, — 



Ri o, — Ja - va — Mo - cha — And to-day, we 



of - fer you Choc - o - late and co-co - a. 



CHOCOLATE AND COCOA. 

Far away in the great chocolate country 
of South America, lives little Winona. 

Although Winona has lived all her life 
where chocolate and cocoa grow, she has 
never tasted a chocolate cream nor a choc- 

99 



olate caramel. 
LofC. 


1.00 


CHILDREN OF TIIE PALM LANDS. 


She has never been to a candy-pull and 
stretched and twisted crisp, brown sticks of 
chocolate taffy. She has never sniffed the 
sweet odor of steaming chocolate, and 
never smacked her lips over its delicious 
taste — poor little Winona ! 

This little Indian girl knows nothing of 
chocolate and cocoa. But she knows 
many things about cacao — and it is from 
cacao that chocolate and cocoa are made. 

Winona is always happy. What little 
girl wouldn’t be with a dear home under 
the lemon trees and a cosy little hammock 
to sleep in at night ? With great, golden 
oranges, big, ripe bananas, and large, 
luscious pineapples just waiting on the 
trees for her to pick and eat? 

Winona loves the great, bright out-of- 
door world with its wonderful treasures of 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 101 

pure air, warm sunshine, and broad, blue 
skies. 

She makes friends of the trees and blos- 
soms and for every one she has a queer 
little name. 

But Winona isn’t thinking of any of 
these things this morning. She doesn’t 
feel the saucy sunbeams burning her bare, 
brown feet, and peeping at her face under 
the coarse straw hat. 

She doesn’t even see the big bright 
butterfly which has just poised on her 
shoulder. 

In and out under the tall cacao-trees 
she darts, as quick and light as a little 
bird. She is thinking that in just three 
days more, the cacao will all be gathered. 
When it is dried — she gives a happy 
little hop when she remembers — she and 


102 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Cherokee will take it to the city and 
sell it. 

With some of the money, which her 
slim brown fingers have helped to earn, 
she will buy — a new blue calico dress ! 

Four years ago, when she was only six 
years old, Winona helped her brother 
Cherokee and her father plant the big, 
brown seeds. She was very careful to 
put just three seeds in each hill. 

Her quick, dark eyes saw 7 the first slen- 
der sprouts which peeped out into the sun- 
shine. 

Her hands tended the little, tender 
plants. She watched them grow into 
small shrubs, covered with bright green 
leaves, and looking, she thought, like tiny 
orange trees. 

Soon they were as high as her head. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


103 


Then she had to reach up to the very 
tips of her brown toes to touch the top 
boughs. 



CACAO PLANT. 


Now, these small cacao-plants have 
grown into tall trees waving their bright 
branches far above little Winona’s head. 



104 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


They look something like big, over- 
grown lilac bushes. 

This year Cherokee showed Winona the 
first fruit on her trees. This queer cacao- 
fruit does not grow at the ends of the 
twigs like peaches and plums and pears, 
but nestles close to the trunk of the tree 
itself, or lies on the big branches. 

Great piles of the ripened fruit lie on the 
ground under the trees. From one pile to 
another, go Cherokee and Winona, filling 
the big bags which Cherokee carries on 
his back. 

It is the oddest fruit, looking like a 
small squash or a big, ripe cucumber. It 
is something the color of a lemon, and has 
fine red streaks running zig-zag around it. 

It has a tough skin. Inside this skin is 
a thick white pulp. And tucked safely 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


105 


away in each of these warm, white cradles, 
are about thirty dark brown seeds. 

When the fruit is all gathered, these 
seeds are washed out. Then they are 
dried in the sun. 

After a long, long time — it seems to 
Winona — comes the day when she and 
her brother are to go to the city. Away 
they float — she and Cherokee and the big 
bag of cacao — in a swift canoe toward 
the city. 

Cherokee wears a white cotton shirt and 
white trousers. The weather is so warm, 
he will not need his poncho. A poncho is 
what Cherokee wears for an overcoat. 

It is as big as a bed-blanket, and Chero- 
kee puts it on by sticking his head through 
a hole in the center. 

Winona wears a short, bright cotton 


106 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


gown and a straw hat. She sits in the 
end of the canoe. She watches the mon- 
keys which make faces at her from the 
branches of the trees. 

Pretty parrots whistle and laugh on the 
shores. Alligators swim lazily away in 
the shadows. 

By and by the canoe glides out of the 
great forest and comes to a queer little 
village. It is flooded from the long, 
heavy rains. 

The people are living, now, in the 
second stories of their houses. The 
streets are filled with water, and the little 
canoes are paddled by dusky Indian boys. 

Winona sees one canoe filled with chil- 
dren. They get out of their boat and 
crawl up a ladder to the second floor of 
their school-house. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


107 


One little fellow drops his book and it 
floats, off down the street. 

In one of the small houses, Cherokee 
and Winona stop for dinner. They sit on 
blocks of wood. The floor is made of 
bamboo poles and the cracks are so wide 
that Winona can see the river running 
below them. 

In one corner of the room is a small box 
of charcoal, over which the dinner is 
cooked in a big, clay kettle. 

They have sweet potatoes, some beef 
dried in the sun, stewed rice and boiled 
bananas. 

In the city everything seems new and 
strange to Winona. She keeps very close 
to Cherokee. 

She sees groups of pretty Spanish girls. 
Each one wears a black shawl around her 



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CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


109 


shoulders, with one corner brought up over 
her dark hair. 

She sees Indians from the country. 
She makes friends with one little Indian 
girl, who is selling pine-apples, and who 
combs her straight black hair while she 
waits for customers. 

Near by, is a little naked baby. He 
has helped himself to one of the big, juicy 
oranges in his mother’s stall. Now he 
rolls in the gutter just out of her reach, 
sucking his orange and crowing happily. 

Never before has Winona seen so many 
donkeys. There is one coming now. He 
has two great boxes strapped on his back. 
He belongs to one of the bakers. The 
baker’s son is selling crisp, brown loaves 
of bread from door to door. 

The donkey wears a string of big bells, 


110 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


which jangle— jangle — jangle as he pokes 
his way through the crowd. 

His face is very sober and his great 
ears flap slowly. He seems very much 
dressed up. 

About each of his legs is tied a piece of 
bright cotton cloth. A broad band of the 
same passes around his body. 

Winona thinks the little black-eyed driver 
has dressed up the poor old donkey in trou- 
sers and belt just to make him look funny. 

But Cherokee tells her that the donkey 
wears his queer clothes to keep him from 
the bites of the big gnats and flies. 

Cherokee stops to watch some workmen 
who are building a house. The frame-work 
is up and the men are nailing bamboo laths 
to it. This is covered with plaster. 

All the beams and rafters are made in 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Ill 


pieces and spliced together. The houses 
are all built in this way. So, when a 
great earthquake shakes the ground under 
them, they sway and rock, but do not fall. 

There is no window in the house. 
Holes in the wall let in all the hot air and 
blazing sunshine that the family will want. 

There is no chimney, no stove-pipe, no 
furnace, no heating-stove anywhere in the 
% city. For this great city lies in the hottest 
part of the great hot belt. 

Cherokee sells his cacao-seeds. Then 
they hurry to one of the big stores to buy 
the new dress. 

The store is like a big tent. Bright- 
colored awnings are stretched overhead. 
The goods are piled upon the floors. 
There are piles and piles of red and blue 
and green calico. Winona chooses one of 


112 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


the brightest of all the bright blue pieces. 
It is a very happy little girl who floats 
away up the dark river. She keeps time 
to the dip of Cherokee’s oars with a 
drowsy little song. 

Down o’er the milky way, 

Through meadows of sparkling blue, 
Floateth the fairy of sleep — so they say — 

In her little white birch canoe. 

Down o’er the milky way, 

Dip, dip, 

In her little white birch canoe. 

Dipping her dripping oar, 

As softly she croons and coos, 

Swift as an arrow to Dreamland’s bright shore, 
She paddles each sleepy pappoose, 

Dipping her dripping oar, 
r Drip, drip, 

She paddles each sleepy pappoose. 

By and by she falls sound asleep to dream 
of the little home under the lemon-trees 
and of the great, green cacao plantations. 

But she does not know — this little 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


113 


Indian girl — what becomes of the mil- 
lions of dark-brown seeds that are carried 
every year to the cities from the cacao 
countries of South America. 

Like the coffee-beans and the tea-leaves, 
they will go to great factories. There they 
will have their dark-brown coats taken off. 

Inside these coats is a soft, oily meal. 
From the outside husks, or hulls, of these 
cacao-seeds, comes our cocoa. From the 
rich meal, is made our rich, dark chocolate. 

Song of the Little North 
American Girl. 

My papa drinks his coffee, 

My mamma drinks her tea, 

My sister sips her cocoa sweet, 

But milk' s the drink for me. 

They drink their healths in coffee, 

In cocoa and in tea, 

But good old Brindle’s creamy milk 
Brings health for you and me. 



PALM TREES. 


» 



AN ARAB SCHOOL. 


ARABIAN WOMAN AND CHILD. 


THE LAND OF DATES. 

Song of the Little Sailors. 

(Air: “Upidee.”) 

Oh, we are jolly little Tars, 

Sing heigh-oh, sing heigh-oh ; 

Above us float the Stripes and Stars — 
Sing heigh-oh, sing heigh-oh ; 

On board our ship, “ United States,” 
We sail to find the Land of Dates. 



116 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Chorus. 

Sunbeams glow and breezes blow, 

Sing heigh-oh, sing heigh-oh ; 

Sailing, sailing, on we go 
To the Land of Dates. 

A dash of foam, a flash of sails, 

Sing heigh-oh, sing heigh-oh ; 

Oh, what care we for passing gales — 

Sing heigh-oh, sing heigh-oh; 

O’er stormy seas, through silvery straits, 

We sail to find the Land of Dates. 

Chorus. 

Little Zahara is sound asleep. From 
the clear, tropic skies, the stars smile down 
upon her. They twinkle — twinkle — 
twinkle — all the long, still night. 

Zahara sleeps very cozily in her queer, 
rocking bed. Is it a cradle ? Or, a ham- 
mock? 

The little girls bed is the back of a 
camel. While she sleeps and dreams, 
her queer horse travels swiftly on and 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


117 


on over the sands of the great Arabian 
desert. 

The stars, big and bright, 

.Drop their ladders of light, 

They reach from the sky to the deep sand. 

The moon’s lamp of pearl 
Lights a little brown girl 
On her winding way upward to Sleep-land. 

Up and down from the sky, 

Sleep-fairies steal by 
On sandals — as soft as a calm breeze — 

They drop a wee dream 
Of a glad, gurgling stream 
And a tiny tent under the palm trees. 


How still the night is ! There are no 
hoarse frogs to croak. There are no katy- 
dids .to call back and forth. There is noth- 
ing stirring save the long line of camels. 

By and by the golden stars begin to 
grow pale. Whiter afid whiter they grow 
as the sky grows brighter and brighter. 

Suddenly, a hundred little fiery flames 


118 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


flash up in the east. Then, out blazes the 
great, burning sun. How the crisp sand 
sparkles in the light. 

There is no sleepy robin to chirp “ Good 
Morning” to little Zahara. But one of 
the roguish, rosy sunbeams runs across the 
sand and peeps down into her little brown 
face. 

She winks and blinks. She opens a 
pair of bright dark eyes. She stretches 
and yawns and straightens herself on her 
high, humpy seat. 

She bends over and speaks to her camel. 
He blinks his long lashes and looks as well 
pleased as a camel can. He has long brown 
fur. He has wide feet that do not sink 
into the sand. Zahara is very fond of him. 

Far ahead of Zahara rides her father. 

9 

He wears a long black and white cloak 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


119 


made of goat’s hair. On his head is a 
gay yellow silk handkerchief. It is tied 
on by a band of tightly twisted hair. 

His feet are covered with sandals. He 
rides a handsome black horse. 

How heavily all the camels are loaded. 
One carries the poles and cloth of Zahara’s 
little tent-home. On another are piles of 
cushions and mats. 

Some of the camels carry stout bags of 
camel’s skin. These bags are filled with 
dried dates, or water, or camel’s milk. 

In front of Zahara rides her mother and 
baby sister. The baby does not travel in 
her mother’s arms, but in a strong sack 
which swings at the camel’s side. 

Higher and higher climbs the sun. 
Zahara shades her eyes and looks out over 
the desert. There is nothing to see but 



CARAVAN 




CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


121 


miles and miles of dazzling sunshine and 
sand. 

Oh, yes, there is! Zaharas keen eyes 
see some small moving specks, clear and 
black ; like shadow-pictures, against the 
blue sky. 

It is another long line of camels and 
horses — another great caravan crossing 
the desert. 

As the caravan comes near, Zahara’s 
father rides forward to meet it. The 
strangers are Arabian merchants in bright 
robes and turbans. 

One after another they take her fathers 
hand. They do not shake it and say 
'‘How do you do?” Instead each man 
lifts it to his lips and forehead and says, 
“ Peace be with you ! ” 

Such beautiful goods as these merchants 


122 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


have for sale. There are thick, soft car- 
pets and rich cloth of all colors. There 
are bright shawls, edged with heavy gold 
fringe for turbans. 

There are spices and gums and per- 
fumes, which fill the hot air with fragrance. 
There are pearls and ivory. There are 
palm-leaf fans and ostrich feathers. There 
is shining leather — red and green and blue 
and purple. 

To-day, Zahara does not see any of these 
things. For in the caravan is a little boy. 
He has bright, black eyes and black hair. 
He rides upon a big, white camel. 

Zahara has never had a playmate — ex- 
cept the baby — in all her little life. She 
peeps shyly at the boy from under her 
pretty white turban. 

He climbs down from the camel and 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


123 


plays in the sand. He builds something 
— what can it be ? 

Zahara steals nearer and nearer. Ninus 
looks up and smiles at her. He shows 
two pretty rows of teeth as white as pearls. 

Ninus is an Arab boy. He has always 
lived in a small Arabian town. Now, he 
is crossing the desert, with his father and 
mother. They are going to a new home 
in a far-off land. 

He is building a small village of sand. 
He makes many little, low houses with 
flat roofs. He lays out narrow streets. 
He puts rows of shops around a market- 
place. 

Then he builds a low wall of sand 
around the whole town. This is the way 
the towns of Arabia are built. In the real 
towns, the houses are of sun-burned brick. 



AN ARAB SCHOOL. 


• r 



CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


125 


Ninus tells Zahara which of the piles of 
sand he means for his own little home. 
Then he tells her where he went to school. 

“ Did you ever go to school ? ” asks 
Ninus. Zahara has never heard of a 
school. So Ninus tells her how the little 
Arab boys go to school and learn to read 
big books. 

“ If I had some leaves,” Ninus says, “ I 
would set out some date-palms in my sand 
village.” 

Then he tells her of the beautiful green 
valleys, filled with beautiful green flowers, 
where the date-palms grow. 

Zahara knows all about the tall, slender 
date-palms, with their feathery leaves 
breaking out at the top like big, green fans. 

She has often seen the bright blossoms, 
too, growing out from the trunk between 


126 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


the leaves. She knows how the date- 
flowers fade and fall, leaving behind them 
clusters of sweet, crimson berries. 



Ninus tells her something new about 
dates. Far away from the great desert, in 
the rich valleys of his old home, hundreds 



CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


127 


of Arabs are busy picking the red, ripe 
fruit. 

After the fruit is gathered, it is made 
into thick masses, or cakes. This is done 
by packing or pressing it into flat baskets. 
Each basket, full of pressed dates, weighs 
about two hundred pounds. 

These baskets of dates are sent across 
the ocean to countries where there are no 
dates. 

No dates ! What do the children eat? 
Zahara wonders. She has always had 
dates to eat. Sometimes fresh from the 
tall trees — sweet and delicious. Some- 
times on the sandy desert, hard and dry. 
She eats date-cakes, too, and drinks a kind 
of coffee made from grinding and steeping 
the date-stones. 

She is very sorry when Ninus goes 


128 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


away on his white camel. She would like 
to hear more stories of the village boys 
and girls whose lives are so different from 
her own. 

Her father has bought his little girl a 
pair of beautiful gold bracelets which she 
clasps on her bare, brown arms. There 
are some tiny anklets for the baby. There 
is a gay red shawl for her mother. Her 
father has paid for these goods with bags 
of salt and dates. 

At noon the tents are set up in the sand. 
The whole company rests in their shelter 
until the fierce heat of the day is over. 

By and by the great sun drops, like a 
big ball of fire, down below the rim of the 
desert. Then Zahara’s camel is brought 
to her. He kneels down, and the little 
girl clambers up to her high seat. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


129 


Then away they go, traveling all night 
under the quiet stars. 

The next morning one of the servants 
brings in from the desert five ostrich eggs. 
Each egg will make a meal for six people. 

The ostrich is a funny bird. The 
mother-bird does not sit on her eggs to 
keep them warm. She hides them in 
hollows of hot sand. The great tropic sun 
hatches out the baby-birds. 

The ostrich has long, slim legs and 
short wings. He can run faster than the 
fleetest horse. While his legs carry him 
along over the sand, he spreads his wings, 
top. So he seems to be running and flying 
at the same time. 

When the poor bird is tired, he sticks 
his head into the sand. He thinks because 
he can see no one, that no one can see him. 


130 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


In this way he is caught. The ostrich is 
hunted for his beautiful curly feathers. 

On and on and on, goes the long cara- 
van, stopping only from noon until sunset 
each day. 

One morning when the sun comes up, 
Zahara sees something which sets her little 
heart beating gladly. She claps her hands, 
and calls, “ The palms ! The palms ! ” 

There, against the rosy sky, stands a 
group of tall, feathery palms. She knows 
well what they mean. Those beautiful 
date trees tell the tired little maid a story 
of green grass, long shadows, and a cheery 
little stream bubbling up — cool and spark- 
ling. 

In an hour they come into the safe, still 
shelter of the friendly palms. Close by, 
they hear the clear, low murmur of rippling 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


131 


water. This little green island in the great 
sea of sand is Zahara’s new home. 

How glad she is to climb down from 
the back of her faithful camel. All the 
tired beasts are watered. Then the tents 
are set up. 

Zahara brings a drink of the cold, clear 
water to the tired, black horse. While he 
drinks, she strokes his satiny neck. Then 
she gives him a handful of crisp, tender 
grass and some fresh dates. 

His hoofs are oiled, so that the coarse 
sand will not harm them. Then he is led 
to rest in the tent of his master. 

He is a great pet. He has never worn 
a bridle. His master rides him with a 
halter, and guides him with his knee. No- 
where in all the world is the horse so 
loved and cared for as in Arabia. 


132 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Zahara’s tent-home is cool and cozy. All 
day long she sleeps on her pretty mat. In 
the twilight she comes out into the fresh air. 

Her father is eating his dinner. He 
has cakes of wheat-flour which he eats 
with butter made of goats milk. Then he 
has date-cakes. They are so hard that they 
are cut into pieces with a hatchet. To- 
night, he has, also, fresh dates and warm 
goats milk. 

When he has finished, Zahara and her 
mother eat their meal. 

Then Zahara curls up on her little mat. 
Her father smokes a long pipe. Her 
mother sings to the baby who rolls in the 
sand. 

The goats and camels graze quietly, near 
by. The stars peep down through the tall 
palms. Little Zaharas dream 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


133 


Of a glad gurgling stream 

And a tiny tent under the palm-trees 

has come true at last. 

But well she knows that in a few weeks, 
the fierce heat will have dried up the little 
spring. The camels and goats will have 
eaten all the fresh, crisp grass. 

Then down will come the tents. The 
camels will be loaded, and away Zahara 
will go again — jogging on camel-back 
across the parched sand in search of other 
streams and other date-trees. 

She could not tell how many homes she 
has already had. She is as happy in one 
as in another. 

She can never be homesick — this little 
girl of the desert. For to her, the desert 
itself, with its sandy floor and starry roof 
is home. 



MALAY BOY 


PEPPER AND NUTMEGS. 


Away over the great ocean, lies a group 
of lovely, lazy islands, called the East 
Indies. 

These sunny islands, miles and miles 
away, send us some of our finest spices — 
pepper and nutmeg and cloves. 

All around them dash the cool, spark- 
ling, salt sea-waves. On them the trees 
are always green. The flowers always 
bud and blossom. The birds sing from 
sunrise to sunset. It is always summer. 

On one of these beautiful islands, in the 
land of spices and tropical fruits, is Mala’s 
home. 

The long, bright day is almost done. A 


135 


136 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


great cocoanut tree holds its green branches 
up against the bright, burning sky like a 
big, feathery fan. 

Over this fan peeps the sun’s round red 
face, smiling “good-night ” to little Mala. 

Mala smiles, too. He is glad that the 
great hot sun is going out of sight, for a 
time, behind the tall cocoanut trees. 

A gay little breeze comes rippling across 
the great vineyard. It is cool and fresh 
and smells of the ocean. He can almost 
see the yellow sands of the beach as he fills 
his little lungs full of the crisp saltiness. 

All the pretty green vines rustle and 
shake their thick clusters of bright red 
berries over his head. And then — all the 
air is full of a sharp, biting odor. Mala 
sneezes loud and long, and laughs to hear 
his mother sneeze, too. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


137 


All over the busy vineyard the people 
stop work to sneeze and wipe their smart- 
ing eyes. They are gathering pepper- 
berries. No wonder they sneeze. No 
wonder their eyes are often full of tears. 

Mala likes to work in the pepper vine- 
yard. Some time, when he is a big man, 
like his father, he means to have a pepper 
vineyard for his very own. 

He knows just what he will do when 
that happy sometime comes. First, he 
will find a large piece of land where the 
pepper-vines grow wild. 

He will cut down most of the trees — 
not all. Well little Mala knows that the 
pretty pepper-vines must have something 
to cling to. So he will leave plenty of trees 
with coarse, rough bark in his vineyard. 

He will cut off their tops and make 


138 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


them look much like stout poles. He will 
leave other trees to shade the pepper-vines. 
For the sun is often too hot for them. 



If Mala cannot find just the piece of 
land he wants for his vineyard, he will 
clear a large piece, plough it, and set out 
young pepper-vines. He will place poles 
for the vines to grow on. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


139 


After three years, his pepper-vines will 
begin to bear. Then, each plant will yield 
two pounds of pepper every year. 

Mala draws- a long breath. He wishes 
he could grow faster. He thinks just how 
his pepper vineyard will look. There will 
be beautiful green vines, running and 
twining from pole to pole. 

There will be tiny tendrils twisting and 
curling and shining in the sun. Among 
the leaves will hang clusters of berries — 
red and ripe, like currants. 

When two or three berries on each 
cluster turn red as fire, Mala will gather 
his pepper-berries. Then his fruit will 
make the strongest, sharpest pepper. 

After the berries are gathered, they must 
all be dried in the sun. The green ones 
will turn blacker and harder every day. 


140 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


At last they will become dried up, wrinkled 
little peppercorns. When ground, these 
will sell as black pepper. 

With the riper berries, Mala will take 
great pains. First he will soak them in 
water, taking off their pretty red coats. 
Then he will dry them carefully. These 
light-colored berries will make the finest 
kind of pepper, called white pepper. 

While Mala’s thoughts have planted a 
pepper vineyard, watched it grow, and 
gathered its first crop of fruit to sell as 
pepper, his busy brown fingers have been 
picking the fiery little pepper-berries. 

The sun has gone away down the sky, 
dipping his burning face in the cool, green 
ocean. 

Mala and his father and mother go 
slowly home through the quiet vineyard. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


141 


The father is tall and slender. He holds 
his head very high. He wears a queer 
skirt, shaped like a big bag. 

When he puts on this skirt, he places it 
on the floor and steps into it. Then he 
gives it a quick pull, a turn, and a twist — 
and there it is fastened tightly in a knot 
around his waist. 

Mala’s mother wears a long, loose gown. 
Beside her trots little Mala. He is a 
slender little fellow. But he is as strong 
as a bamboo pole. His bare little body is 
almost as brown as the big brown cocoa- 
nuts on the trees. 

His home is on the edge of the pepper 
vineyard. It is a poor home — only a tiny 
hut. Its walls are of sun-baked mud. Its 
roof is thatched with straw. 

The floors are of mud, too. Mala and 


142 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


his father and mother sit on the floor to 
eat their supper. Their only dishes are an 
iron pan and three bowls, or cups, made 
out of cocoanut shells. 



Sunvatrk home. 


They eat ripe fruit, and drink cool 
cocoanut milk. The weather is so warm 
in this tropic island that the people do 
very little cooking. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


143 


Their beds are coarse mats lying on the 
floor. Mala’s father is very poor. He 
works all day in the pepper vineyard. 
Sometimes he earns as much as ten cents 
a day. 

Mala’s mother works very hard. Some- 
times she digs stones out of the soil. She 
and Mala can earn only a few cents a day. 
No wonder the little boy is in a hurry to 
grow up and own a great vineyard him- 
self. 

TEN LITTLE PEPPERCORNS. 



One — two — three lit - tie pep - per - corns, Four — five — 




r -p* 0 9 -fv 

-7- — 0 — 0- — r — # — j — 





six lit - tie pep-per-corns, Seven — eight — nine little pepper - 



corns, Ten lit - tie pep-percorns. Oh, once they were rosy and 


Oh, now they are black and all 



144 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 



* 

— p - — 

— f— h* T — 

' “N -fc-i 

0 J J I 

Ilf — ^ 

b 

w 

M iq 

mel - low 

and 

mer-ry, The sun burned their cheeks j ust as 

with-ered 

and wrinkled, But grind them to 

powder — each 



red as a cher - ry, And hot - ter and hot - ter grew 

her - ry so crinkled — They’ll make as sharp pepper as 



each lit-tle ber-ry To make a fine, hot pepper-corn, 
ev- er was sprinkled —These ten lit-tle hot pepper-corns. 


To-night Mala’s father tells him that 
they must leave their little home by the 
pepper vineyard, and go far away to 
a small island lying out in the great 
ocean. 

Mala is very sorry, at first. For small 
and poor as the hut is, it has been a happy 
home — and he loves it. 

After a long journey, they come to their 
new home. It is a small hut near a great 
grove of trees. 



CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


145 


Out in the woods Mala finds many old 
friends. Gay butterflies, like those he 
chased in pepper-land, flash by him. Bright 
blossoms, whose names he knows, lift 
sweet faces to welcome -him. Glad birds 
sing the same old songs. 

Suddenly Mala stops and looks all 
about him. He takes in long whiffs of 
the fragrant air. It is heavy with some 
rare, rich perfume. 

The sweet, spicy odor comes from the 
tall trees all around him. Their green, 
glossy tops shine far over his head, against 
the blue sky. Their branches droop low. 
Some of them sweep against his face. 

There in the dark-green leaves, he finds 
clusters of tiny flowers. They are of a 
pale yellow color, shaped like little lily- 
bells, and sweet — oh, so sweet! Mala 


146 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


buries his hot face in the cool leaves and 
pretty blossoms to take in all he can of 
that new delicious fragrance. 

Then his quick brown eyes see some- 
thing else. Among the yellow flowers, 
hangs round, ripe fruit. It looks deli- 
cious. Its soft cheeks are faintly flushed 
with pink, like a ripe peach. 

Up go the little brown hands to pick 
some of this new fruit. Inside the soft, 
sweet pulp, is a tiny network of red fibres. 
Within this net-work is a hard shell. 
When Mala’s bright eyes see this round 
shell, he laughs all over his little dark 
face, and says “ Nutmegs!” 

If the nutmeg trees all about this little 
brown boy could talk, they would tell him 
of how they came to be growing on this 
island — tall and stately and beautiful. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


147 


A long time ago, the first nutmeg trees 
were found only on one group of islands in 
the great ocean south of Asia. 

The Dutch people who claimed these 
islands, made large sums of money, each 
year, by selling their fragrant nutmegs. 
So they grew selfish. They said that none 
of the seeds and none of the trees should 
ever be carried anywhere else in all the 
great world. 

When these selfish people said this, they 
quite forgot that people were not the only 
living things on these little islands. 

They forgot all about the pretty 
pigeons, which came every day, in great 
flocks, to eat the ripe fruit of the nutmeg 
trees. 

These pigeons went on eating nutmeg 
fruit. And, when they spread their soft, 


148 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


swift wings, and flew over the blue waters 
to other islands of the sea, they carried in 
their bills many a tiny nutmeg seed. 

These little seeds fell to the earth. The 
rich soil held them snug and warm. Then 
the sunbeams and the raindrops coaxed 
them to put out tiny green sprouts and 
come up into the great, glad, sunshiny 
world. 

So wherever the seeds had fallen, up 
came the nutmeg trees. The gentle' 
pigeons had outwitted the selfish people. 

Mala hears the soft breeze laughing 
through the nutmeg trees. But he does 
not know the story of the nutmeg pigeons. 
If he did, he would laugh, too. 

Nutmeg trees blossom and bear fruit all 
the whole bright year. In a short time 
Mala knows as much about picking and 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


149 


preparing nutmegs as he does about 
pepper. 

Three times a year the nutmegs are 
gathered — in April, in July, and in 
November. When the happy harvest 
time comes, out into the grove goes Mala, 
with hundreds of other little brown boys, 
to pick the ripe fruit. 

He carries a long bamboo pole. In 
one end of this pole he has fitted a large, 
sharp hook. With these poles, the nut- 
meg fruit is pulled down from the high 
branches. 

The ripe nutmegs split open, and show 
the brown nuts inside, covered with a queer 
red network. This red network has a use, 
as well as the hard nuts. It is taken off, 
dried, and ground into a yellow powder 
which is called mace. 


150 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Inside the brown nuts, hide the round, 
hard seeds or nutmegs. 

The nuts are dried over slow fires, until 
the nutmegs begin to rattle about inside 
the thin shells. 

Mala and his mother open the shells 
with small mallets. Out roll the precious 
nutmegs. They are now ready to be 
packed in big cases to start on their long 
journey to the United States. 

Story of the Nutmeg Trees. 

Upon an island, long ago, 

Some nutmeg trees were growing, 

With golden blossoms all aglow, 

And red, ripe nutmegs showing. 

The people said, “We’ll keep these trees, 
For nutmegs bring good prices.” 

Low laughed the little ocean breeze 
Above that isle of spices. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


151 


A whir of wings the warm air fills, 

A flock of birds comes feeding, 

Then — nutmeg seeds hid in their bills — 
Up and away they’re speeding. 

Through dashing foam and spray they fly, 
O’er valley, plain, and highland, 

The nutmeg seeds drop down and lie 
On many a tropic island. 

Now, far and near, grow nutmeg trees, 
Bearing their precious spices, 

Loud laughs the little ocean breeze — 

“ For nutmegs bring good prices.” 

Your secret, sweet, oh, nutmeg tree, 

One island could not hold it ; 

To all the islands of that sea, 

The little birds have told it. 



JAVA CHILD 









IN JAVA. 

Ten Little Cloves. 

One little, two little, three little clove-buds, 

Four little, five little, six little clove-buds, 

Seven little, eight little, nine little clove-buds — 
Ten little clove-buds brown. 

Ten little, nine little, eight little clove-buds, 

Seven little, six little, five little clove-buds, 

Four little, three little, two little clove-buds — - 
One little clove-bud brown. 

It was the happiest family. There were 
four older children in fluffy, red dresses. 
Then came three smaller ones, each wear- 
ing a queer, crimson cap. Next, there 
were the twins in green. Last of all, was 
a tiny one in pale yellow. 

If you would like to visit this cozy 


153 


154 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


family, you must sail away across the 
great ocean. You must land on the island 
of Java, and travel away from the coast. 

By and by, you will come to a great 
grove of beautiful evergreen trees. They 
have smooth bark of a soft olive color. 

About half way up the trunk the 
branches begin. They stand out straight 
and thick, on all sides of the tree. The 
second row of branches is shorter than the 
first, the third shorter than the second, and 
so on, to the top. 

These branches are all covered with 
slender, shining leaves, so that the tall 
trees look like great green cones. 

Up near the top of one of these trees, at 
the end of one of its broad green boughs, 
you will find the little family — “at home.” 

The cozy family is a big cluster of 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


155 


cloves ! The older children, in red dresses, 
are the pretty, feathery blossoms. They 
stand around the edge of the cluster. 

The three smaller ones, in bright little 



caps, are big clove buds — red as fire. 
Then, there are twin buds, in green, and a 
baby bud, in soft yellow, just peeping out 
into the world. 

All about the cluster of cloves are the 


156 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


leaves of the clove tree. The warm wind 
blows through them, and they whisper — 
whisper — whisper. 

What do they say ? They tell the clove 
buds and blossoms strange stories of 
strange people. 

Long, long ago, the Chinese found that 
the queer, red buds of the clove tree were 
good for something. They were hot and 
spicy to the taste. 

Often, just before a great man made a 
speech, he held a clove in his mouth. He 
knew it would leave its pleasing pungent 
flavor on his tongue. Do you suppose it 
helped him to make a sharp speech? 

Cloves, in those days, were very costly. 
Sometimes they sold for five, or even 
seven, dollars a pound. No wonder great 
kings and bishops were pleased with a 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


157 


present of a pound of cloves. They kept 
the precious spice in boxes of rare wood. 

Fresh and free blew the wind. It rat- 
tled through the stiff palm leaves. It 
stirred the scented clove leaves. Wind 
and leaves, together, sang a sweet, low 
lullaby to the cloves in their happy home. 

Little red clove bud, 

Your home’s in a tree, 

It’s built all of green leaves, 

As bright as can be. 

Rock-a-by, rock-a-by, 

In all the grove, 

There’s nothing so sweet 
As a sweet little clove. 

Down under the clove tree sits a little 
girl. She hears the wind murmuring 
through the green leaves. Their song is 
so soft — so soothing. 

Lower and lower sinks the small dark 


158 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


head. Lower and lower droop the tired 
lids over the sleepy dark eyes. The little 
dark maiden is sound asleep. 

The wind and the leaves sing on and 
on. One great star comes out, and smiles 
down on the little girl asleep under the 
tall clove tree. 

Then, out of the twilight, Mother’s voice 
calls, “ Lila, Lila! ” 

Lila springs up. She runs home as fast 
as her two bare feet will carry her. Her 
home is a pretty little hut of bamboo. It 
is so light and airy, it seems like a big 
basket. It stands in a grove of cocoanut 
and banana trees. 

Inside the house is as neat and clean as 
busy fingers can make it. 

Dinner is ready. Lila’s father and her 
brothers and sisters are all sitting at the 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


159 


table. The table is a big braided mat. 
Lila and her mother sit down on the floor 
beside the mat. 

For dinner, there is a rich soup. It is 



made of birds’ nests. Batoe has been 
away across the broad rice-fields hunting 
for these strange nests. He pulled them 
off the rocks where the birds had fastened 
them. 



160 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


They are made by a kind of swallow. 
To-morrow he will carry some of them to 
the city, near by, to sell them. 

After dinner, Lila and her mother sit 
down in the thick shadows of the banana 
trees. 

There have been black clusters on the 
trees all day. Now these clusters begin 
to stir and move. Soon the air is full of 
flying bats. Their soft, swift wings brush 
against Lila’s hair. 

Bats are funny things. Some of these 
are like tiny mice with wings. Others are 
so large they are called “ flying foxes.” 

The moon peeps down through the 
trees. Lila rocks herself to and fro, keep- 
ing time to a little Javanese song, some- 
thing like the one the wind and the leaves 
sang to the cloves. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


161 


Little brown baby, 

Your home’s of bamboo, 

Your chair’s made of grasses, 
Your cradle is, too. 

Hush-a-by, hush-a-by — 

Sunshine or shade — 

There’s nothing so dear 
As a dear little maid. 

Lila sleeps on a mat of twisted grasses. 
It is covered with bright cotton cloth. 

At sunrise, she is up and dressed. She 
runs out of doors. Her father is pounding 
the husks off the rice for breakfast. 

Besides boiled rice they have bananas 
and cocoanuts. They drink cocoanut milk. 

There is much to be done on this sunny 
morning. Everyone is busy. Women and 
girls hurry by to the great coffee-planta- 
tions. 

Great loads of rich fruit, coffee-berries, 



JAVA GIRL 



CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


163 


cacao, sugar-cane, gums, and spices go by 
on their way to the city markets. 

Pretty Javanese women pass. They are 
going to market, too, to sell dried and grated 
cocoanut, and other wares. They offer 
them for sale in pieces of banana-leaves. 

Each wears a queer garment, called a 
sarong. It is a kind of cotton shirt, 
fastened in a twist about the waist. A 
broad scarf passes under the arms and 
crosses the back. In these gay scarfs, 
knotted loosely over one shoulder, many 
of the women carry their tiny black-eyed 
babies. 

Little boys ride by on great gray water- 
buffaloes. Patient faces and keen, dark 
eyes peep out from under the big bamboo 
hats. All day long they must keep the 
big flies from the stupid-looking buffaloes. 


164 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


They must guide them from one juicy 
herb or bit of grass to another. 

Lila and her mother go to the grove 
near by to help gather cloves. Only the 
big buds which have turned red are gath- 
ered. They are so sweet — Lila can think 
of nothing else quite so sweet as the tiny, 
crimson clove-buds. 

She does not know that this rare spicy 
perfume has a name all its own. It is 
called aromatic. 

At ten o’clock the sun is so hot that all 
the people stop work for a time. They 
sit in the shade weaving pretty mats for 
tables, beds, and chairs. 

Lila helps her mother weave. Then she 
gathers some soft, white down from a tree. 
She will carry it home to stuff pillows. 

By and by she grows thirsty. She 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


165 


makes a little cup out of a piece of thick 
banana-leaf. She fastens it with a sharp 
cactus thorn. From this queer cup she 
sips sweet cocoanut milk. 

At four o’clock all the people — men, 
women, and children — hurry back to their 
work. It is a busy island — the little 
island of Java. For there are always rice 
and coffee and spices to gather and pre- 
pare for the people who live on the other 
side of the world. 

On the way home Lila stops to talk 
with her friends — the orchids. Fair and 
frail, they look like bright butterflies poised 
on slender stems. 

There are great thickets of frangipani 
blossoms, too. They open scented, snowy 
petals and show their warm, golden hearts 
to the glad little maid. 


166 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


What a good world it is — full of flowers 
and trees and butterflies and birds. And 
there is home, too — the cozy bamboo-hut 
under the banana-trees. That is the dear- 
est spot in all the glad, green little island, 
Lila thinks. 

The crimson clove-buds have reached 
home before her. Lila helps to spread 
them out to dry. They must dry in the 
shade as quickly as may be, so that their 
sharp, biting taste will not be lost. 

Then they must all be packed in a kind 
of matting made out of cocoanut-leaves, 
and sent away across the ocean to the 
great world of which little Lila knows 
nothing. 

As they dry, the crimson buds will turn 
to hard, brown cloves. Each has a tiny 
head, like a nail. Because they look so 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


167 


much like little nails they are called cloves. 
Clove comes from a word which means nail. 

The long, slender stem of the clove is 
really the calyx of the tiny flower. The 
sharp spikes around the head are the 
sepals, or leaves of the calyx. 

Inside that round head are the folded 
petals of the little clove-blossoms, which 
never opened. No wonder cloves are so 
sweet and spicy. They are nothing at 
all but the dried buds of fragrant tropic 
flowers. 

When the cloves are spread out in the 
shade, Lila sits down on her little mat 
and spins cotton into yarn. By-and-by 
she will help her mother weave it into 
cloth. Then mothers swift fingers will 
make Lila and her sister some new 
gowns. 


168 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


While she sits on the ground, singing 
and spinning, the big golden sun goes 
away to light the other side of the great 
world. He leaves behind him, in the 
warm western sky, long ribbons of pink 
and pearl and pale purple. 

These fade slowly away. The great 
white stars sparkle in the quiet sky. 
soft hush of twilight falls over all the 
little island. Another long, bright day in 
Java is over. 

Rocked on the lake’s soft bosom, 

The lotus leaves lie white, 

The fragrant frangipani 
Folds up her petals bright. 

The orchids whisper — whisper — 

“ Dear little isle, good-night,” 

And crimson cloves, in spicy groves, 
Echo “ Good-night, good-night ! ” 


WHERE CINNAMON GROWS. 

In Ceylon. 



Oh, where and oh, where sails your ship, my jol- ly crew ? Oh, 


Oh, there boys and girls live in 

lit - tie, brown clay huts, Oh, 

I y \ 0 m 



/tk vr _ 0 0 





z F 


0 0 

'W H v / ! 

y 

~ w 0 0 -1 


where and oh, where o’er the o - cean, broad and blue? We 
there grow the palms hung with big, ripe co - coa nuts, The 


— k- 



-J- 




H— — —! 


0 - 




sail to find a land where the warm wind softly blows, The isle 
land of pearls and palms, every merry monkey knows The isle 



of Cey-lon — where the sweet stick-cinnamon grows. W e 
of Cey-lon — where the sweet stick-cinnamon grows.The 



liGZ?3 

■/ — 


sail to find a land where the warm wind softly blows, The isle 
land of pearls and palms-every merry monkey knows, The isle 



of Cey-lon — where the sweet stick-cinnamon grows, 
of Cey-lon — where the sweet stick-cinnamon grows. 


169 




A SCENE IN CEYLON 















CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


171 


On the other side of our big, beautiful 
world, on this little island of palms and 
pearls and spices, lives Bentoe. 

It is a warm morning, early in June. 
Outside his little home, Bentoe is waiting 



for the baby. Sometimes, it seems to 
Bentoe that he is always waiting for the 
baby. 

Here she comes — a little brown bundle 
in her mother’s arms. How her black 
eyes shine when she sees Bentoe. She 


172 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


talks to him in her pretty baby way, and 
holds out two tiny brown hands toward 
him. 

Bentoe’s mother is very tall. Her skin 
and eyes are dark. She has long, heavy 
black hair, tied in a knot at the back of 
her head. Over this knot is a large tor- 
toise-shell comb. 

This comb is quite low. This means 
that Bentoe’s mother belongs to one of the 
lower classes, or ‘‘castes” of Ceylon. If 
she was of higher caste, she would wear a 
high comb. 

Mother puts a big, coarse* blanket 
around Baby. Then she swings her over 
Bentoe’s back. The ends of the blanket 
go over his shoulders, and cross on his 
breast. He holds an end firmly in each 
hand. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


173 


In this queer carriage Baby goes out for 
an airing. She puts one little bare foot 
on each side of Bentoe’s waist. Away 
they go, Bentoe trotting along. Baby bob- 
bing up and down. She looks very 
happy. 

Baby’s queer horse carries her out into 
the pleasant green country. By and by, 
Bentoe sits down by the side of the road. 
Baby slips out of her blanket, and toddles 
about in the shade. 

Bentoe looks lazy, lying there on his 
back with his eyes half closed. But he 
thinks he is a very busy boy. Isn’t he 
looking after Baby? Isn’t he ready to 
beg of the first passer-by ? 

Baby is busy, anyway. There are 
bright blossoms to pull from their stems 
and a big, blue butterfly to chase. When 


174 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Bentoe gets his sleepy, black eyes open 
wide enough to see anything, both Baby 
and the butterfly are far away. 

Bentoe follows after, calling and calling. 
But Baby laughs at him over her shoulder 
and runs on. 

Then along the road comes something 
which makes her change her mind about 
running away. Back she runs to her 
brother as fast as ever her tiny feet will 
take her. 

It is a great elephant. On his broad 
back are piled cushions of gold and crim- 
son silk. On these cushions, under a soft 
silk sunshade, sits a little girl. 

She is riding alone. But there are ser- 
vants to guide her great, awkward steed. 
Her father rides close by on horseback. 

Bentoe gives one quick look at the fair 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


175 


face, the laughing blue eyes, the long 
sunny curls of the little maid. 

Then he folds his brown hands across 
his breast. With coaxing words and win- 
ning ways, he begs the little English lady 
for some money. 

Bess smiles down into his eager face. 
She opens a pretty purse and tosses a 
silver coin to him, and one to Baby. 

“ Come with us to the cinnamon gar- 
dens,” says her father, “and tell us all you 
know about cinnamon, and you shall have 
more money.” 

Away they go, little Bess on her great 
elephant, and Bentoe carrying Baby “ pick- 
a-back,” as before. 

By-and-by, they come to a great garden, 
or park. Broad walks run through it 
under the tall trees. The fair skies of 


176 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


Ceylon smile down upon it. The little 
breezes rush up from the ocean to play in 
the green branches of the trees. 

“ What makes it so sweet ? ” asks Bess, 
as she and Bentoe run along the path. 

“ Cinnamon,” says Bentoe, with a little 
sniff. Bess looks up at the tall, scented 
cinnamon-trees — some of them five times 
as tall as she is. She has found the 
land “ where the sweet stick-cinnamon 
grows.” 

She claps her little hands. “ It’s better 
than a fairy-story, Bentoe,” she says, 
41 because its really true.” 

Bentoe doesn’t know anything about 
fairy-stories, but he does know about cin- 
namon. In his own queer little language, 
he tells Bess how cinnamon grows. 

Seven years ago, many of these tall 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


177 


trees were hidden away inside tiny seeds. 
Plants grow quickly in the soft air and 
rich, sandy soil of Ceylon. 

Twice a year the cinnamon is gathered, 
in May and June, and in November. To- 
day the garden is full of busy people — 
“ peelers,” Bentoe calls them. 

Ginger comes from the root of the plant, 
cloves from the buds, nutmeg, allspice, and 
pepper from the fruit. Cinnamon comes 
neither from the root, nor the bud, nor the 
fruit, but from the inside bark of the cin- 
namon-tree. 

Bess soon sees how it is gathered. She 
watches the swift, skillful peelers pull thin 
strips of bark from the shoots. Many of 
these strips are over a yard long. Other 
ipen bind the rolls of brown bark into 
bundles. 


178 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


After the cinnamon leaves the garden, 
the rough outside bark is taken off. As 
the sweet inside bark dries, it becomes a 
soft gold-brown color, and rolls itself up 
into the form of a quill. 

There is a kind of spice raised in 
China called Chinese cinnamon. It is 
made from the bark of the cassia-tree, and 
tastes much like cinnamon. But it is less 
costly and pure than the real cinnamon 
of Ceylon. 

As they go away from the garden, Bess 
tells Bentoe what she knows about cinna- 
mon. She tells how it is bought at home, 
in a soft, brown powder. She says it must 
be kept in a tight case or box. If not, it 
soon loses all its aromatic smell and pun- 
gent taste. 

Bentoe’s eyes grow big as she tells 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


179 


about the rich, dark loaves of spice-cake, 
and other delicious things which Ceylon 
cinnamon helps to make. His mouth 
waters to taste the round, red cinnamon- 
drops. 

Bess tells him, too, that the garden they 
have just left, together with many others, 
belongs to England. That Ceylon, itself, 
and all the vast country of India, are 
owned by the little green island of Eng- 
land, miles and miles away. 

On each side of the road grow cocoanut- 
palms, fifty and eighty feet high. Their 
tops are crowned with dark leaves, three 
times as long as the children, riding far, 
far below them. 

Bess looks up at them. “ There are no 
palm-trees in England,” she says. 

Bentoe opens his eyes wide. No palm 


180 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


trees ! What a strange place England 
must be ! Why, how can anyone live 
without palm trees ? 



First, there are the great, round nuts 
which grow under the leaves. Bentoe has 
helped to gather and pack many of them 
to send away on the great ships down in 
the harbor. 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


181 


Many a delicious lunch has he had from 
the creamy cocoanut inside the big nut. 
Many and many a cool drink of its sweet, 
rich milk. 

“ Cocoanut is delicious,” says Bess, “but 
we can live without it.” 

But the cocoanut-tree has so many other 
uses. There is no part of it which is not 
good for something. 

Its straight, strong trunk — that makes 
and rigs small vessels. Sago, too, is 
made from some parts of the trunk. 

From the old leaves, many of the houses 
and fences of the island are built. When the 
leaves are young, they are of a soft yellow 
color. Pretty figures are carved on them, 
and they are sold in the shops of Ceylon. 

From the tough fibers of the leaves are 
made brooms and brushes. From the nut- 




COCOANUT-TREES 















CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


183 


shells, cups and spoons and ladles — the 
dishes of the Cingalese people. From the 
outside husks of the nuts, ropes and twine 
— yes, and carpets, and even mattresses. 

The tender flower-buds are sometimes 
boiled and eaten. From many of them is 
taken a thin juice. This is the wine of 
Ceylon, called “ toddy.” This toddy is 
often made into vinegar. Sometimes it is 
made into a cheap sugar or molasses. 

No wonder the people of Ceylon love 
the noble palm tree. And there are some 
little birds who love it, too. 

These queer birds are fond of the toddy- 
juice. So they hang their bag-like nests 
on the palm branches, in among the buds, 
where they can help themselves to all the 
toddy they want. 

When Bentoe has told Bess about his 



CEYLON ELEPHANTS. 














CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


185 


good friend, the cocoanut-palm, he tells her 
how to catch elephants. 

Sometimes elephants are caught in a cor- 
ral. A corral is a large, open place, fenced 
in with strong stakes. It has two openings. 

The elephants go through one of these 
openings into the corral. They think that 
they can get out of the other. But they 
can’t. It only leads into a small space, so 
small that a great elephant cannot turn 
around in it. So there he is caught. 

Another way of catching elephants is 
with a coil of strong rope. The hunter 
sees an elephant standing by himself, on 
the great, grassy plain. The queer beast 
slowly swings one hind leg to and fro. 

The hunter creeps, like a cat, nearer 
and nearer to the elephant. Suddenly, he 
throws his coil of rope. A swift swish 


186 


CHILDREN OF THE PALM LANDS. 


through the air, a quick twang as the rope 
tightens around the elephants leg — and 
the great animal is caught. 

Away runs the hunter. He twists his 
end of the rope around a strong tree-trunk. 
The elephant bellows and roars, but he 
cannot get away. By-and-by his captors 
put another noose around another leg. 

Bentoe tells Bess about the wonderful, 
white pearls, and the pearl divers of 
Ceylon. 

When they reach the town, Bess rides 
away to the broad, beautiful street near 
the ocean. 

Ceylon is beautiful with its giant trees, 
its fragrant spices, and its great, glistening 
pearls. But down in her little heart Bess 
loves England best,' after all. 

Bentoe trots away with Baby, to the 


CHILDREN OP THE PALM LANDS. 


187 


crowded little street over at the other side 
of the town. He thinks of all that Bess 
has told him. In all his lazy little life, he 
has never thought before of the wonderful 
world beyond the blue water. 

But in that world there are no palm- 
trees — no elephants — no brown babies! 

After all, there’s no place quite so dear 
to little brown Bentoe as the tiny clay-hut, 
where mother waits for him at the door. 

Home’s the best place always — isn’t it? 

It may be of clay or bamboo, 

It may be a hut of leaves, 

It may be only a wee, brown nest 
Up in the quiet eaves. 

Perhaps, it’s a cozy cottage, 

Or a palace with lofty dome, 

Or a tiny tent ’neath the proud palm- 
trees — 

Love makes it “Home, sweet Home!” 





geography 

(. Reference Book') 

Children of the World 

Their Homes, Their Schools, Their Playgrounds 


Fully illustrated. 254 pages. Small qto. Cloth, $1.00 


The “ Children 
of the World” will 
be an unfailing de- 
light for picture 
study and marvelous 
story because of the 
great vaiiety of na- 
tional life and the 
unusual attention 
given to details of 
the every-day cus- 
toms of strange peo- 
ple. The book is 
literally full of pict- 
ures and they open 
up the life of the 
people as if we had 
been invited to en- 
ter their countries 
and see for our- 
selves. It is rare 
that illustrations 
mean so much in 
any book as in this 
— they are original, 
striking, and almost 
tell the story with- 
out the text. Partic- 
ularly will the games and sports of these all-over-the-world 
children be of exciting interest to American boys and girls, 
for “ play ” is the “ open sesame ” to every childish heart. The 
make-up of the book is rich and artistic, and expense has not 
been spared in giving the “ Children of the World ” a beau- 
tiful setting — Primary Education . 




The Children of the Cold. 

A Charming Story of Children in Arctic Regions 

By Lieut. Frederick Schwatka. 

Fully illustrated. Price, $1.25. 

All boys and girls old enough to distinguish between differ- 
ent races of men will enjoy the vivid account of the games, 
toys and manner of life of the little Eskimos, who seem, their 
climatic limitations considered, to have much the same ten- 
dencies as children of other lands. Here one may learn where 
and how they live, how their homes are built, what are their 
playthings, how they make sleds and coast on them, how the 
dogs are fed, what they have in place of candy, their work, 
hunting and fishing, how their clothes are made, and much 
about their sports and exercises of skill and strength. The 
book contains nothing to which exception can be taken, and 
we can heartily recommend it. — Nation , 





BIRD LORE 


( Reference Book ) 

Stories About Birds 

of Land and Water 

By M. and E. Kirby 

Authors of “Aunt Martha’s Corner Cupboard,” etc. 

Fully Ulus. Small qto. Cloth, $1.00 

Perhaps in these days of , ,1 

teaching birds in the schools, 
there is no way so effective as 
to interest children in the daily 
events of bird life. The scien- 
tific facts about a bird do not 
appeal to young people nor 
stick to the memory. But show 
the instinct and character of 
that bird in action, in story 
form, and the child is inter- 
ested in an instant, and will 
absorb bird facts without know, 
ing it. In this work eighty- 
three different birds are talked 
about in a live, entertaining fashion, that makes one feel at 
home with each, and to feel a little richer for thi new acquain- 
tance. The illustrations, about one hundred and twenty-five 
in number, are much larger than is usual in bird books. 
There is the distinctive character of each bird standing out in 
the picture as if the artist had carefully studied its peculiar 
traits before representation . — Primary Education. 



THE GREAT AMERICAN CLASSIC 



The Story of Hiawatha. 

FOR YOUNG READERS 
Colored Illustrations. Bds., 30 cts. Cloth, 40 cts. 

This story differs from the usual presentation of Hiawatha 
in its combination of prose narrative and the original poem. 
The result is a happy adaptation for young children. The 
narrative form prepar s for a better understanding of the 
rhythmic lines and prevents any weariness from the monotony 
of the long poem. The book is rich in illustration — there 
is hardly a page without its accompanying picture. There are 
many full-page illustrations, several in rich color, and all are 
remarkably clear, striking and expressive. These will prove 
of great assistance in comprehending the poem and will 
delight the hearts of the children. The book is most attractive 
in every way. — Primary Education. 

Your copy of the “Story of Hiawatha” has been received. 
It is in keeping with almost all your remarkable series of 
school publications — a most excellent book for second or third 
grades. You are dong grand work for the schools of America. 

Ellwood P. Cubberley, Stanford University y Cal. 






1902 


JUN -5 1902 

\ COPY DEL. TO CAT, 01V. 
JUN. I '902 


Sri 


I* 




